Denouement
by Morgandi
Summary: He is Javert, guardian of justice and champion of the law. She is Roche, friend of Fantine's and dark-eyed enigma. Javert is Roche's last-ditch attempt to make things right; Roche is the mistake he never should have made. As they hurtle towards heaven or hell, all they know is that there is no going back. JavertxOC
1. Début

She breathed in the crisp morning air and felt a rare half-smile creep up the side of her face. Montreuil-sur-Mer at last. Home, if she could really call it that.

Roche took a careful step forward. How long had she been gone? _Three weeks, _she thought, and crossed her arms over her chest. Not much _should _have changed in three weeks, but things had an awful tendency to change when she was not there to oversee them. She would nose around the town, discover if anything had gone awry, and fix it if she was particularly inclined to do so. It would be pleasant to rediscover her little place. She would enjoy it after Paris. She was not so very fond of Paris.

But first, Fantine. Roche reached into her pocket absentmindedly and poked at the francs within. Fantine paid very little for her lodging, two sous a day. The _grisette _had thought it an incredible price at the time; Roche had not felt like telling her how much the lodging _really _cost. In truth, Fantine's little home was something closer to ten sous a day, money Fantine could not spare.

Roche, however, could. And even still she would never, ever stop owing Fantine.

So the landlady first, and _then _Fantine. Roche had left 11 francs behind, which would have covered the cost if Fantine had been paying her share. But, as she'd already noted, things always went wrong when Roche was not around to oversee them. She'd give the landlady 25 of the 30 francs she had now. The rest would go for food, until she could find herself another job. Hopefully not in Paris.

Decisions made, she took off at a brisk trot. Montreuil-sur-Mer had gone quiet. It wasn't like the town to be so devoid of life. She grimaced. _This is what happens when I am not there, _she thought to herself darkly. _No more Paris. _

She slipped into an alley. When the sun was not shining directly on her, the air turned unpleasantly cold. She pulled her head closer to her shoulders and hurried on. The town had never felt particularly unfriendly before, but the unease in the air was palpable. _Something is happening, _she thought to herself. _I don't like it._

On either side of the little alley, huddled figures wrapped tattered shawls around themselves, or reached out with trembling hands for the odd sou or two. Roche glanced to the side. A woman who couldn't have been much older than Roche herself held a child in her lap. Her bottom lip was red with blood from the teeth that gnawed on the frayed skin. Her hair was frizzy and black, her eyes wild.

Roche knelt. "Good morning, _madame," _she said, reaching into the pocket of her cloak. It was a thick, woolen thing. The woman's shawl was depressingly meager in comparison.

Her fingers closed around a sou, which she pressed into the woman's hand. "Tell me," she said, as she closed the woman's fingers around the coin. "Has something happened?"

The woman, distracted by the coin, only nodded. Roche waited, and after a few moments the woman looked up. "Oh yes," she said. Her voice was like the rustling of a dry leaf. "Inspector Lafayette has gone."

The expression on Roche's face stilled. _Damn it, _she thought, but did not voice the thought aloud. "There is a new inspector then, I presume," she said, more to herself than anything. The woman nodded.

"Good day," said Roche distractedly, getting to her feet. A new inspector. Of all the things to happen whilst she was away… Lafayette had been a blessing. He had been a perfectly dreadful inspector and was easily ignored. It wasn't as if Roche was much of a criminal, or a criminal at all. But there was a certain degree of relief in knowing that if she ever did have to resort to unsavory means, she would probably come out of it unscathed.

_It's about time something like this happened, anyway, _she thought. _Lafayette couldn't stay forever. _She cast her gaze skyward, towards the roiling clouds overhead. Au revoir_, Inspector Lafayette. I fear I am going to miss you._

Fantine's home was near to the docks. Roche would have preferred going there before dark, but the sun was already setting. She sighed to herself. The prostitutes came out in droves once the sun had set, and while she did not have a problem with prostitutes, her unkempt appearance usually had her lumped in with them. She remembered a time when she'd been forced into a wall near the end of the dock by some sex-mad individual with meaty hands. She wondered idly whether his _bitte _had healed yet.

Probably not.

Twilight had fallen on the docks as she hurried through. Other than a trio of girls leaning against one of the ships, the place was mostly abandoned. _Right. The new inspector. _She had a feeling he would be harsh. If he was a replacement for Lafayette, he'd have to be.

The feeling of unrest had not gone away when she reached the residence of Madame Favre, the landlady. The woman was in a foul temper and complained incessantly throughout the entire interaction, only pausing for breath to tell Roche that her hair looked ridiculous. Roche's hair probably _did _look ridiculous, but that was no excuse for rudeness.

Roche herself was thoroughly annoyed by the time she stepped out of the little office. _But Fantine's rent is paid for, _she thought to herself. _That is good. That is something. _Her return to Montreuil-sur-Mer had been nowhere near as satisfactory as she'd hoped. At this point, all she wanted was to see Fantine again, to perhaps spend an evening with her friend, and then to lock herself in her own tiny residence and sleep for as long as physically possible.

She tucked a curl behind her ear and hurried down the street to Fantine's door. Reaching out, she curled her hand into a fist and rapped on the wood, three times. She would not knock again. Fantine, while probably not expecting her, would most certainly recognize the somewhat brassy attitude.

Thirty seconds passed. Already Roche felt a weird apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach. She let her arm fall to her side. Fantine had heard her. The rooms were too close together for her _not _tohave heard.

A minute passed. Roche cocked her head. Her breathing accelerated. _Fantine, _she thought. _What are you doing, Fantine?_

It was four more minutes before the door opened.

Roche had never been easy to take by surprise. Oftentimes she knew about things before those centrally involved had any clue as to what was going on. But as Fantine opened the door and looked her in the eye, she realized that something _had _happened, and she was much too late to set things right.

Fantine's eyes were streaked with tears. Her cheeks were red and smeared with liquid, and her eyelids had puffed into veritable slits. When she took in the sight of Roche standing on the doorway, she attempted a trembling smile that devolved into a fit of shaking.

_Dear God, _thought Roche. _What have I done?_

Fantine appeared to be attempting some sort of explanation, but her jaw snapped open and closed uninhibited. She wrapped her arms around herself and swayed from side to side, trapped in some throe of grief that Roche couldn't understand. The girl stood frozen on the doorstep, nostrils flared, posture tense.

"Fantine," she whispered finally. Her voice was chill. "What's happening?"

The _grisette _shook her head, retreated into the darkness of the hallway. Stripping off her cloak, Roche followed. The door clicked shut behind her, trapping her in the stuffy warmth of Fantine's little abode. For once, Roche wasn't really thinking about it.

Fantine had retreated to the soft chair in the corner, where she collapsed. She had her face in her hands, and appeared to be mumbling to herself. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." With every word, her tremors increased. "Oh, God."

Roche felt herself moving, although she was hardly thinking about her actions. Mechanically, she went to her friend's side, trapped the shaking wrists and pinned them to Fantine's lap. Kneeling at Fantine's feet, she felt more worthless than she'd felt in a long time. She did not like it.

"Fantine," said Roche again. "Fantine, Fantine. What's happening to you?"

It took several minutes for the whole story to fall from Fantine's trembling lips. With every word, Roche felt a strange nausea brewing in the pit of her stomach. A lump clogged her throat, but her eyes were dry. Roche did not cry, did not know how to cry. In some ways it was a blessing. But now, when her lungs gasped for air and every beat of her heart felt like the stab of a shard of glass, she wished she understood the concept a little better.

Fired. Fantine had been fired. This could not have happened at a worse time. Roche felt the strength leaching from her bones, and she thudded against Fantine's skinny legs, wrapped one arm around them. Even this position didn't feel degrading enough. _I'm dirt, _she thought numbly. _All these years of being in her debt, and I can't help her when she needs it the most. I'm trash._

There were several minutes of silence. Fantine's mumbled explanation had turned into sobs, and then into harsh breathing punctuated by the occasional whimper or sputter. Roche remained clinging to Fantine's legs, perfectly reminiscent of one of the barnacle-creatures that clung to the sides of ships. She felt as though the floor beneath her had been whipped away, and Fantine was the only thing keeping her from slipping into darkness.

"I've failed you," she said suddenly, and let go. She brought her knees to her chest and bowed her head. "I should have been there."

Fantine shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done…"

"There is _always _something," Roche snapped. "If I'd been there," she added, her voice having lowered an octave, "I'd have killed your foreman before allowing him to—to throw you out. Like an animal." Her voice remained mostly impassive, but she meant what she said. She could feel it in her bones, in the blood trickling through her veins.

Fantine shook her head again. Her face was pinched. "Cosette," she whispered. "How will I have enough…? How can I make ends meet?"

Roche jerked to her feet, snatched at the francs in her pocket. "Here," she said, returning to her motionless friend. When Fantine made no move, Roche reached over and tried to place them in her friend's hand. "Take them. Take all of them."

Fantine, for the first time, looked up with an expression in her dark eyes that wasn't full of pain. "_Non," _she protested. "I can't…"

"You have to," said Roche.

Fantine's eyes were brimming. "What about you?" she whispered. "You need that for food. That's all you have. Isn't it?"

"I'll steal," said Roche, having momentarily forgotten about the new inspector.

"_Non," _said Fantine. "Besides," she added, an afterthought. "I would send this for Cosette… And you mean it for me. Don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Roche. "What good will you be if you aren't eating? I'm not going to let you starve." There was a dark conviction in her voice.

Fantine looked at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. "You must eat as well, Roche," she said.

Roche blinked. "Fantine," she groaned softly, and once more fell to her knees. "Why won't you let me save you?"

This time, Fantine did manage a smile. "This is different," she said, putting her hand on Roche's head. "The money I gave you was my parents'; I hardly would have starved without it."

Roche's head bowed until her pointy chin was pressed against the dip in her collarbone. "Then, so help me God," she said. "I'll make this last. We will eat, Fantine. We'll _both _eat."

She had no intention of eating much of anything, but this was no time to be saying that.

The course of action was decided. This was no time to be sitting idly by. Roche got to her feet and dropped the money on Fantine's little work-table. "You must look for work on the morrow, Fantine."

"Yes," said the _grisette, _looking weirdly nervous. "What about you? What are you planning?"

Roche thought about it for a moment. "I will look for work as well," she decided.

"Real work?" asked Fantine. "Or…" She didn't finish the sentence. Roche had never really gotten into the nature of her work with Fantine, and the _grisette _didn't know what to call it.

"My brand of work," said Roche.

"What do you do, Roche?" asked Fantine. She didn't appear as though she expected an answer; Roche had dodged the question so many times that Fantine was probably used to disappointment.

"Not today," said Roche. "But one day I _will _get into it. I promise."

Fantine nodded. "Will you—are you going to stay? Or…"

"No, I should be going," said Roche. "I have work I have to get done." _Before it's too late, _she thought to herself, but saying that kind of thing aloud would only frighten Fantine unnecessarily. She wrapped her woolen cloak around her shoulders and turned to Fantine, who remained in the chair. "It will be alright, Fantine," she said, hoping that her tone was more convincing than it probably was. "We will make things work."

Fantine only nodded. "Roche," she whispered, and her voice cracked. "Please don't leave again."

She felt the words slam into her chest and bury themselves there, like tiny nails in a heart-shaped coffin. "I will never leave you again," said Roche, and she meant it. "Good evening, _mon amie."_

"Good evening," whispered Fantine, and she looked at her hands before curling them into fists. _She has just made some sort of decision, _thought Roche, noting the determined glint in her friend's eye. _Fantine. I hope you know what you are doing._

_ At least one of us should know._

* * *

He'd be damned if that Mayor Madeleine was not Jean Valjean.

The station was filled with idle chatter, most of it concerning but not including the recently-installed Inspector Javert. Lafayette had been an embarrassing failure. Javert was not going to say that Montreuil-sur-Mer was rampant with crime because of his predecessor's shortcomings (indeed, it seemed a peaceful town from what he could tell) but even the most peaceful of towns could not function without the guiding hand of the Law. Lafayette had not been the right man to administer that hand. Javert had the utmost confidence that he would do well where his predecessor had failed.

But here he was, worrying himself over Mayor Madeleine when his current objective involved his patrolling the town on some sort of nightly circuit. It was a standard procedure, but it would take some time getting used to. He forced himself to put thoughts of the Mayor out of his head (if only for now) and turned back to the bright young man with the map.

"And here's the docks, Mister Inspector, sir," the lad exclaimed, blithely stabbing at the map with a grubby index finger. Javert could not for the life of him see how the young fellow had gotten himself this kind of position, but as head of the Montreuil-sur-Mer police, he would see to it that the young idiot didn't get into any manner of trouble.

"I'd recommend spending some extra time down there," the boy continued. "_Not _because of the ladies, mind you. It's just that there's lots of scuffles goin' on, especially at night when us decent folks are trying to get some shuteye." He grinned a gap-toothed grin.

Javert did not return the smile. "Continue," he said, waving his hand at the map.

The boy's smile dimmed. "Well… That's all, sir. After that, you go home for the night and Favre takes the rest."

Javert nodded and plucked the map from the boy's hand. "That will be all," he said, not glancing up from the rectangle of paper. The boy was a bit of an idiot, that much he could see, but he had a good hand for drawing. _Which won't help him very much in this profession, _Javert thought grimly.

When he looked up again, the boy had vanished amongst his peers. The night had fallen quickly, and it seemed that most of the men were anxious to get home. Javert folded the map neatly and placed it in his pocket. He'd only use it when he was truly lost; the less he used it now, the easier the town would be to navigate in the future.

He left the men to their idle chatter. The cold of the night air hit him and he drew his coat a bit tighter around the shoulders. The moon hung fat and heavy in the sky, the stars obscured by scudding clouds.

_This is no time to be looking at the sky, _he thought.

He could do this patrol on his horse, but he preferred to do the walk himself. The more he walked these streets, the more he'd understand them. Besides, he needed to stretch his legs. He needed to think.

_Mayor Madeleine and Jean Valjean are one and the same. There is no other explanation._

There was no concrete proof, and for this reason alone he had not already alerted the proper authorities. But the man had the strength of an ox and the face of the convict. Javert had noted the way he kept his wrists and ankles out of sight, going so far as to draw down the sleeves of his coat when they slipped too high. It was a standard practice among criminals, to keep the scars from the heavy manacles from showing. It was true that Javert had nothing but his suspicions, but he was willing to wait. _If he is Jean Valjean, he will slip up, or try to run. They always do. And then I will have him._

It occurred to him that he was not paying as much attention to the streets as he should have been. He had not run across a soul as of yet, and that disturbed him. _I will get nothing done if the people hide at my approach, _he thought. _They have nothing to fear from me, so long as they follow the path of the righteous. _

An intersection loomed ahead. Javert frowned at it for a moment, and then, resigned, reached for the map. He drew it out from his pocket and moved to unfold it.

The gust of wind was so sudden that he was not at all prepared. With a violent tearing sound, the map was torn from his grip. He whirled around in time to see it floating nonchalantly over the top of a peaked roof, fluttering in the air for a moment, and then vanishing from view.

His finger had been sliced by the paper and was now bleeding. Idly, he wiped the blood away on the back of his hand and considered his options. Going back for the map would be a pointless waste of time. There was no telling where the wind had taken it. No, his best option would be to pick one of these streets and to hope for the best. A doubtful prospect, but it would serve him better than standing here all evening.

He started forward and was surprised to hear the sound of quiet footfalls, coming his way. _The first person I'll have seen this evening, _he ruminated. _I don't suppose he'll know the way to the docks._

A small figure rounded the corner of the right intersection, paused when it saw him, and then continued coming forward. As it approached, he realized that what he had assumed was a young man was actually a slim young woman with a strange, dark expression on her face. She came within five feet of him and then stopped dead, blinking once or twice.

"Good evening, _monsieur," _she said. Her voice was oddly calculating. "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"You have not," he agreed. "I am… new to your town." He really didn't have the time to be standing here, making small talk. "Do you know the way to the docks, _mademoiselle? _I fear I have lost my way."

She looked at him for a moment. "Yes," she said finally. "I don't think that my description alone will be enough to guide you, however. If you could promise me a fast pace, I would be willing to bring you there."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you are frightened of being alone in the dark, _mademoiselle…"_

To his surprise, a flash of irritation flickered across her face. "Fear has nothing to do with it, sir." A small, self-satisfied grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Fear is not a particular problem with me. _Non, monsieur, _I simply have business to attend to." That, for whatever reason, wiped the smile away.

He was torn. It was clear that the girl did not want to help him, did not have time for it. But he was her new inspector, and if anything she should be at least somewhat deferential in his presence. He was no tyrant, but he was an authority figure that demanded a certain level of respect. And it was absolutely essential that he patrol this route tonight. Any hesitation would have him labeled weak or ineffective, and that he could not allow.

"Will this particularly impede you, _mademoiselle?" _he asked.

She sighed heavily. "It is a small thing, Inspector."

So she recognized his rank. He had a small, suspicious inkling that this was the only reason she was showing him any respect at all.

"Show me the way, then," he ordered. It was easier to be rather commandeering when around civilians. After so long as a prison guard, he found it difficult to get that distinctive authoritarian snarl out of his voice. The girl did not seem particularly bothered by his tone, though.

"This way," she said, turning and waving him forward over her shoulder. She walked quickly, but he had no difficulties catching up. He was well-exercised; had to be in order to be an effective inspector.

The girl's eyes were on the road, but it was clear that she was walking a route she'd walked dozens of times before. He wondered briefly if she was a prostitute, but dismissed the notion. She was much too young, and she walked with a regal, prideful air. He could not imagine her lowering herself to such an extent. But she had mentioned business at this hour, and prostitution was likely the only thing a young girl would be up to so late in the night.

It was not a topic he could bring up without inciting wrathful (and rightful) indignation. "You mentioned business," he said lightly. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

She started, as though she'd forgotten he was there at all. Her big black eyes fixed on him, and then she turned back to the road. "Perhaps someday I will tell you, Inspector," she said, and yawned.

That was not the kind of answer he'd been expecting. "Might I remind you that you are speaking to a man of law?" he reminded her darkly. "It would be wise for you to speak the truth."

Her nostrils flared, but she seemed mostly unworried. "Forgive me," she said. "You and I have never been _properly _introduced. I could not be sure you were an inspector at all, could I?"

"That is a _ridiculous _loophole, _mademoiselle."_

"It is, isn't it?" she murmured, brushing a strand of dark brown hair away from her pale forehead. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, then."

He might as well try out his new title. "I am Inspector Javert of the Montreuil-sur-Mer Police," he said, giving her a short bow.

"Javert," she said, as though she were trying out the name on her tongue. "Delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Roche."

_So she goes by her surname, _Javert mused, _or else she is attempting to conceal her given name from me. _She was an odd creature, certainly.

The scent of sea air hit his nostrils. They turned a corner and he could see the ocean spread out before him, like a glossy dark canvas. Several ships were moored at the massive docks. From here, he could see lights bobbing and no doubt refutable characters gathering at them. He wondered if they would scatter at his approach, or if he would be propositioned or bribed. He was ready for either.

"I thank you for your help, _mademoiselle…" _he said, and trailed off. There was no one standing beside him. In the space of about thirty seconds, his companion had vanished.

He turned to look behind him. The alley from which they'd come was dark, deserted. _She's gone, _he thought, mildly astonished. _She is faster than I realized._

The astonishment turned rapidly into irritation. _She ran from me, _he noted darkly. _And she never answered any of my questions. She has something to hide._

It was similar to the Madeleine situation in that he could not prove anything. But Javert had not yet been wrong about something like this.

_Madeleine, Roche, _he thought. _If you are guilty under the law, as I suppose you are, prepare yourselves._

_ For I am the Law, and the Law does not yield._

* * *

From her perch on the rooftop, she watched as the inspector gave one last glance behind him and continued on his way to the docks.

With a yawn, she stretched out and got to her feet. Scrambling to the rooftop might have been more challenging if she hadn't previously known the exact places to put her feet and hands. This was hardly the first time she'd needed a quick escape from the docks. And while she hadn't exactly needed to escape, she'd wanted to avoid any further conversation. She was a girl with a mission, after all.

But something kept Roche rooted to her place. She glanced down at the street and a dreadful lethargy took hold. She flopped back to a seated position, resting her forearm on her knee and her chin on her forearm.

_Au revoir, Inspector Javert, _she thought, watching him walk away. _I was right. I already miss Lafayette. _

She could not just walk blindly. If she'd been any sort of careful, that encounter would not have happened at all. Now she'd wasted time, and Fantine didn't have any time. With a growl, she smacked her forehead against her forearm. She'd been hoping for some kind of jolt, a buzz, but she felt nothing at all.

"I need to think," she said aloud. Her words floated on the salty air and hung there, suspended by moonlight.

Who in Montreuil-sur-Mer would require her services? She couldn't think of a single person right off the bat, which was unsettling. Paris had been filled with people that needed her. There was a significantly smaller group of people that were willing to _pay _her, but that was another matter entirely.

She groaned and smacked her forehead again. She could hardly go back to Paris, as she'd promised Fantine she wouldn't. Besides, the idea of leaving Montreuil-sur-Mer on any sort of extended trip made her feel vaguely nauseous.

_Think, Roche, think. _She tugged at her hair and set her chin on her knees. The pain prickling at her scalp set her mind to a sharper, razor-like state of being. And there was the answer, so glaringly obvious that she couldn't believe she hadn't thought it before.

She swiveled her head wildly, but the inspector had vanished into the darkness. _"Merde," _she said quietly. There would be no finding him now, unless she went after him to the docks (which was an exceedingly stupid plan.) No, if she wanted to find him, it would have to wait until the morrow. She realized, with a grimace, that if she wanted the inspector, it was the police station that was her destination.

"_Merde," _she said again.

There was a part of her that wanted to lie down on the roof and go to sleep. But the day had been one of the most hellish days of her life, and she knew that she would not be able to fall asleep if she tried. She was suddenly irrationally angry. With one hand, she scrabbled for something to throw. Her hand closed around a loose chunk of wood and she ripped it from the roof.

She tried to gather enough air in her lungs to yell something, but the anger evaporated like water and she was left holding the piece of wood and feeling like a fool. She was white as a sheet as she clutched it in her hand. Then, with a deep growl, she tossed it off the roof and listened as it clattered to the ground.

She would not stay on this roof all night. She got to her feet and made her way back down to street level. There, lying in a puddle of glass-colored water, was her little chunk of wood. With a small grimace, she kicked it free. It clattered into the darkness.

Home. She would go home, and she would change clothes. She felt so _dirty _all of a sudden; her skin crawled with it, and her scalp tingled unpleasantly. Rubbing her hair, she began to walk and then sped up to a brisk trot. Her home was not so very far from Fantine's, although Fantine had never been there. Roche owned a single room with a bed and some clothes in a trunk, on the odd occasion she found it necessary to sleep there. She had long since paid for the place, as she was busy enough worrying about Fantine's rent and didn't want to think about her own.

It was not long before she arrived at her building. She slipped into the hall as quietly as she was able (the respectable residents were probably asleep) and made her way to the tiny room. The bed was neatly made, the curtains folded back to reveal the night sky. She paused for a moment in the threshold and the nausea finally took her. She collapsed on her knees, crawled for the bedpan stowed away underneath her sheets. She grabbed it by the metal rim and heaved, closing her eyes to avoid looking at the mess. When she was done, shivering and shaking, she collapsed on her side. Her chest heaved and she was covered in sweat and bile. Her breath probably smelled of sick, and her throat burned like acid.

She didn't care. It was with herculean effort that she dragged herself to her bed. There, splayed across the mattress and fully clothed, the events of the day caught up with her, and a bone-numbing weariness enveloped her in fatigue. She was asleep in moments.

With the morning came an unpleasant clarity. She sat up in bed and her scent made her wrinkle her nose. _I can't smell like this, _she thought, and that was the only thing that had her trudging downstairs to the pump. When her face no longer had bits of vomit on it, she returned to her little room. She wanted to sink back into the bed. _No. I have to change. _Hurriedly, she stripped off her clothes. Her trunk was a jumbled mess of clothing in dark shades. She realized, feeling like a fool, that she did not have any dresses at all. Her cloak served to cover the fact that she was not one for skirts. If not for the cloak, the harassment would irritate her to no end. _I'll just leave it on, _she thought. _And I'll wear my baggiest trousers. Nobody will notice._

They would probably notice, but Roche had a penchant for ignoring appearance-based insecurities.

There was nothing left to do. She looked at the room for a moment, how haphazard her return had left it. _I have to go now, _she told herself, trying to ignore the irrational nervousness. There was no guarantee that this would work at all… But she would _make _it work. She would be there for Fantine. She would _not _fail.

"Here I come, _Monsieur _Inspector," she whispered, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I certainly hope that you're ready."

* * *

Javert had been startled to discover that there was a disturbing amount of paperwork to be filled out in order for him to take complete control over the Montreuil-sur-Mer police force. There were wavers that had to be signed and files to oversee, and it meant that an entire day would be wasted completing the arduous and totally pointless task. He had been issued a small office that he had no intention of _ever _using again, and was currently supporting his head with his hand as he tried to make sense of the more ridiculous clauses on the contract he was meant to be signing. Whoever had written it clearly thought that it would only be official if it was mostly "big words" and most of them did not make any sense in context.

He was deeply engrossed in the writing and it took several knocks before he finally looked up. It was the lad from the previous evening, Montagne, who stood at the door. His grin seemed twice as huge as normal, and he jittered from foot to foot with a nervous energy.

_"Pardon," _said Montagne. "There's a _girl _here to see you, Mister Inspector sir. A girl!" He made a dramatic hand gesture, as though there being a girl in the station was something majestic and grand.

Javert was not so easily pleased. "I am busy," he said, indicating the paperwork. "Tell her to come back later."

"It's too late for that," said a voice, and it was one that he recognized. Montagne jerked around, saw the figure leaning against the door, and grinned again.

"_Mademoiselle! _You followed me!"

"I did," Roche agreed, with a trace of a smile on her face. "Will you forgive me?" Her words were directed towards Montagne, but her eyes were fixed on Javert's.

Montagne was nodding emphatically. _His _eyes were staring at a point significantly lower than Roche's eyes. She noticed, and the smile vanished. The glare on her face was unpleasant, and Montagne swallowed.

"I'll be leaving you two, then!" he squeaked, and darted past Roche, to freedom. She stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression on her face. Then, with a lazy sweep of her hair, she fell into a bow.

"It is my pleasure to see you again, Inspector Javert."

"Your pleasure," he agreed. "I am busy, _mademoiselle. _You had no right to enter my office uninvited."

"Indeed," she said. She did not look remotely sorry. "I am sorry."

"You are not," said Javert, putting down his papers resignedly. "Why are you here?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, and brought her hands together. Her demeanor, which had seemed so placid the night previous, was now uncertain. "You asked me what business I had in the night," she said abruptly.

Well, that was true. "And you mean to enlighten me, I suppose?"

She gave him a tiny smile. "Your powers of observation are astonishing. Yes, Inspector." She took another step forward, so that she was directly in front of his desk. Leaning against it, she took a shallow breath.

"They say that you can buy anything in Paris. I don't know about that. But I think it is very true that everything in the world is being sold, somewhere. Some people sell _love. _Others sell bits and pieces of themselves." She paused. "I sell information."

He made to speak, but she cut him off with a hawk-like glare. "Nothing happens in this town without my knowing about it," she said, as though it were a simple observation of fact. "There is no secret that I don't know, and if I don't know it then I will _learn _it. There is no one in the world that can hide from me." Her gaze went dark. "I have been in Paris for the past three weeks, locating a debtor for a bourgeoisgentleman. This man had been looking for his scamming friend for over five years, and it took me two weeks to track him down. I am very good at what I do, _Monsieur _Inspector."

"You are new here," she continued. "You know nothing of this town. I know everything." She narrowed her eyes. "You will have those who run from the law, from judgment. You will have suspects who hide from you. And you will have no way to find them, not without me." She spread out her fingers on his desk, as though she were spreading her literal cards on the table. "I do not ask for much, _monsieur. _Only that you think of me in these situations."

He did not have to think about it. "No. Certainly not."

She did not seem particularly surprised. "I thought you would say that," she remarked. "Why? Is it because I am a woman, or because I am young?"

"It is because you are not a member of the Montreuil-sur-Mer Police," said Javert darkly. "I will not have a civilian meddling in affairs that do not concern her."

"I will meddle whether or not you take me up on my offer," said Roche quietly. "It would do you no harm to have help." She smiled grimly. "There will be times when, like it or not, you _will _need me, _Monsieur _Inspector—but I am not easy to find."

"You might think that I would need you," said Javert. "Are you always so convinced of your own importance?"

He had meant the words to sting, to dissuade her, but they seemed to have the opposite effect. "On the contrary, Inspector. I am not important at all. It is my information which is crucial. And information I have in plenty."

Javert shook his head. "I do not even know what it is that you are suggesting, _mademoiselle."_

"I am no enforcer," said Roche. "But as an informant I would be invaluable. Crime is not rampant here, but it is not invisible. I know when it happens, and I know the repeat offenders. I certainly know those who pose a significant threat to the safety of you and your men. It is information that could save lives, Javert. What kind of man could refuse that?"

Javert was not going to rise to the obvious bait. "It is a foolish, fanciful idea. I do not know why you want this, and I do not particularly care. I trust you can see yourself out." He looked down at the papers on his desk and reached for his pen.

When the sounds of Roche's departure were not forthcoming, he glanced up from his work and discovered something startling. She had moved so that the desk was no longer between them. Then she closed her eyes and made a dark, brooding face. "Heaven preserve me," she muttered to herself, and knelt at his feet.

She could not have surprised him more. "_Mademoiselle," _he growled. "What do you mean by this?"

"I will do anything to get this job, _monsieur," _she said. Her tone was light, but it was clear that she was not pleased by her current position. "Anything at all. This is a matter of life or death urgency, sir, and I am afraid that I cannot take no for an answer. So… please." She said the last as though it left a sour taste in her mouth.

"This changes nothing," said Javert. "You are making a fool of yourself."

"So be it," said Roche. "If you want me to kiss your feet, I will." Her tone was still airy, but there was a conviction mixed in that made him think she probably would kiss his feet if he wanted her to, which of course he did not.

"Enough," he exclaimed. "Do not test my patience."

"Then open your damned eyes and _see," _said Roche. "I am offering you something that you cannot get anywhere else, and you're too proud to take it!"

"If your services are so fantastic, why come crawling to me?" asked Javert.

She grimaced. "You are the only one in Montreuil-sur-Mer who needs me," she answered. "I am a commodity in Paris. Unfortunately, I can no longer leave this town. You are my last option."

Javert was not moved by self-pity. If she had been whining or crying, he would have called in the men to take her out by now. But her eyes were dry and defiant, and as she kneeled she trembled with energy. Still, if it had not been for his next thought, he would have had her thrown out.

_Perhaps she can discover Mayor Madeleine's little secret._

The thought shocked him. No, he could hardly ask a young girl for help in this matter— but he did not have the time to spare to be chasing after the demons in Madeleine's past. "You say that you found a man in three weeks' time?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Two weeks," she corrected. "But it amounts to the same thing."

It would not be good if he asked her to nose around in the Mayor's past and his suspicions turned out to be incorrect. But it would be just as bad, more so, if he acted on those suspicions and they turned out unfounded.

It was not a decision that was easily made. _But she wants to help. I have never seen a young person take such interest in the law before._

He felt, suddenly, that he was condemned either way. _I'll be damned if I let her help, certainly. But how can I turn her away, if she could set my mind to rest on this matter of Valjean?_

His next sigh was so low that it was something akin to a growl. "I will give you one job," he said. "And I will _not _pay you until the end of the month, when I receive the bulk of my own payment." She raised one eyebrow slightly, but did not protest.

"Now," said Javert. "If you want this as much as you say you do, you will stop kneeling."

She nodded, and in one fluid motion was on her feet, leaning against the side of his desk. He could not help but widen his eyes slightly. A less observant person would not have noticed, but she did, and smirked.

"You will not smirk," he warned her.

She stopped smirking.

Javert shifted his weight in the chair and wondered if he was making a mistake. Well, he was almost certainly making a mistake. But perhaps, somehow, it would be worth it.

"You will look into the past of the Mayor of this town," said Javert. "Find out if the facts are as he tells them. If he has secrets, you must discover them. _If _your performance is satisfactory…" He let the "if" hang in the air. "Then you will receive your payment."

She nodded; her demeanor had changed to one of pure business. Gone was deference, the determination. Now there was nothing at all in her eyes. "I charge 15 francs a week," she said, and hurried on before he could protest. "How often shall I report back to you, _monsieur?" _

He considered it. He did not want to deal with this strange woman any more than he had to. But he was hardly going to pay her for services she wasn't providing him. "Weekly," he decided.

She nodded, bowed, and extended her hand. "Shall we shake?" she asked. "Normally I would require some sort of contract, but you are a man of your word, I'm sure." Her expression dared him to argue.

As he took her hand in his own, he _knew _he was making a mistake. _But it is too late to back down now, _he thought. _And she might be able to close the case of Jean Valjean, once and for all._

"You are dismissed," he said, releasing her hand and turning back to the papers. If she was going to be working for him, he would treat her no better than he treated his subordinates. A small part of him hoped that his attitude alone would be enough to make her change her mind. A larger part of him was well aware that this would not be the case.

He didn't have to look up again to know that she was gone.

* * *

_**Translations:**_

_Au revoir- _goodbye

_Bitte- _cock

_Grisette-_ working-class woman

_Non- _no

_Mon amie- _my friend

_Merde- _shit


	2. Faim

Roche was hungry.

It was unfortunate that this was the first and foremost thought in her mind. But the fact remained that she had not eaten for close to three days. It was possible for her to eat, if she wanted to go back to Fantine's. She didn't.

_Besides, _thought Roche, with a dark expression. _Fantine needs to eat more than I. _There was something off about Fantine lately, and Roche didn't like it. _I hope she is not coming down with something. I don't have the time to care for her._

She immediately felt guilty for the thought. _Fantine comes first. Fantine always comes first._

It was this mantra that allowed her to ignore the ache in her abdomen. She leaned against the alley wall and kicked up her leg to dissipate the pins and needles dancing beneath the surface of her skin. The door to the station opened, and Roche's hopes rose, but it was a group of laughing men. Not the inspector she was waiting for.

He had dismissed her close to three hours ago, and had not yet ventured outside. She was well aware that he had some sort of break for lunch, but he hadn't yet utilized it. And, while she should probably be investigating the past of the mysterious Mayor Madeleine like she'd promised to do, it was Javert she intended to analyze first.

It was a standard procedure of hers. She did not want to be dependent on a psychopath for money. Nor did she want to be dependent on a liar or a cheat. And, while she doubted that Inspector Javert was any of those things, a few hours of her time would serve to prove it.

She sighed noisily. She had wanted to go to Fantine's today, but apparently it was not to be. After she was done here, she'd be hunting after the illustrious mayor. Thinking about him made her narrow his eyes. _Bastard. _He had watched Fantine get fired and done nothing (or so Fantine had said.) Perhaps he'd had a reason. Roche did not particularly care about his reason.

She was caught up in this thought, and barely noticed the door opening. By the time she glanced up, Javert had made it halfway up the block. Flittering around him was the young man from earlier, Montagne, probably showing him the way. She swore quietly and slipped into the street.

Javert was a brisk walker and not in the habit of looking back. He was easy to follow, as long as she hung back and kept her eyes on her feet. Montagne was so distracted that he wouldn't recognize her if she was standing in front of him. Besides, she had altered her appearance, just a bit. Her hair had been swept up into her hood, which covered most of her face. It was not a foolproof disguise, and she'd be easily recognized by anyone who knew her, but it would serve its purpose for now.

The nearest eatery was a small café stocked with fancy bread things and hot chocolate. Roche could not see Montagne or Javert choosing to dine there, but sure enough, Montagne came to a stop next to the shop's window and pointed inside. _He must have asked for the closest one, _thought Roche. _It seems that he is unwilling to waste time. _She allowed herself a knowing smile. In the future, he'd probably bring food from home.

As Javert opened the door to enter the shop, a gust of sweet-smelling air blew across the square. Roche sniffed it and a stab of pain punched her in the gut. _"Mon dieu," _she exclaimed softly. "I am hungrier than I thought…" _But the money is with Fantine, and I am currently busy. I've been over this._

They were inside the shop now. She could watch nothing if she wasn't closer to the window. She walked quickly across the cobblestones and picked a place almost directly underneath the windowsill, with a good view of the inside of the shop. She immediately picked out Javert, who appeared to be intimidating the clerk. Montagne, however…

"Roche!"

Her head jerked around. The young man had exited the shop without her noticing, and was now twitching in front of her. "I thought you left!" he exclaimed. "I thought you left _hours _ago!"

"Shh," she said darkly. "I…" She noticed the bun in his hand and trailed off.

He saw where she was looking and raised his eyebrows. "Huh? You hungry?" He waved the bun in her face, but retracted it hastily as she bared her teeth at him. "No need to get angry!" he said hastily.

"Give me that bun and I will think about forgiving you," said Roche. _This is embarrassing. I should be embarrassed._

Montagne raised an eyebrow. "What will you give me for it?" he asked. "A kiss?" He closed his eyes and puckered his lips, then grinned and laughed at her expression.

Roche glanced through the shop window. Javert was still arguing with the clerk. _I have a little time left._

"Alright," she said pleasantly. "Forget the bun. Just… don't mention this to Inspector Javert, alright?"

Montagne, for a scrappy and insolent individual, seemed to have some kind of mysterious window into Roche's brain. "Why? Were you _following _us?" He looked delighted. "I knew you'd fall for me, _Madame!" _he exclaimed, batting his eyes at her. "You can't resist me!"

She growled, low in her chest. "Montagne, so help me God…"

He stopped batting his eyelashes, but was still grinning, as though he had the upper hand. "Alright," he said. "I won't be mentioning this to our lovely inspector…" He paused for emphasis. "If you'll only kiss me." He spread out his arms. "I know you want to!"

She stared at him for a moment, unblinking. "Assaulting a police officer is a crime, isn't it?"

Montagne thought about it. "Yeah."

Roche sighed. "Figures. _Non, _I will not kiss you, Montagne."

He looked dreadfully disappointed. "Please? One little kiss?"

"No!"

He sighed dramatically. "Then I'll have to tell the inspector. I'm just doing my duty, _Madame!" _He gave her a cheerful wink and bit into the bun. The smell of butter and cream hit her like a javelin. She gave a small mewl of protest and thudded against the side of the building. _I should be going, _she thought. _I really ought to be going… _If the inspector found her here, he would be angry. Angry enough to fire her? Perhaps.

But the smell of that bun… Montagne had noticed her sudden lethargy and was glancing around, as though he wanted there to be witnesses just in case she were suddenly dying. With every nervous twitch, the bun danced, just out of her reach. She lifted out her hand for it, took a step closer, prepared to pounce…

And the door opened, directly onto her unprotected forehead.

It was hardly a killing blow, certainly not a wounding one. But the combination of her sudden and extreme hunger, and the sudden and extreme pain in her skull, was just enough to set the sparks flaring behind her eyes.

_Merde, _she thought, and collapsed.

* * *

Javert had never in his life swept anyone off their feet.

_But there is a first time for everything, _he thought, looking down in mild horror at the crumpled figure lying on the pavement. To his relief, it immediately began to shift, and then a groan issued from the lump of fabric.

"Roche!" exclaimed Montagne. He knelt at the girl's side and poked at her hair, all the while giving Javert a horrified look. "You _killed _her," he said.

"Move aside," Javert commanded, shoving Montagne out of the way when the boy didn't move quickly enough. She wasn't dead, that much was obvious… But he might have damaged her in some way. "_Mademoiselle?" _he asked gravely, hovering over her fallen form. For the first time in his life, he was completely unsure as to how he was to proceed.

Roche solved the problem for him. She gave another pain-filled growl and jerked into a sitting position, one hand pressed against her forehead. Her eyes were unfocused and narrowed slightly. "I've been injured," she said slowly. "I am in trouble. Javert is going to be angry. Dammit, Montagne." She lapsed into silence, still staring broodingly into the distance.

Montagne took advantage of the situation to jam something bready and fluffy into his mouth. Roche's head jerked and she stared as he wiped the crumbs from his lips. Her stomach gave a very audible and painful-sounding growl.

"Oh, right!" said Montagne. "She's _hungry, _Mister Inspector sir."

"I'm hungrier than I should be," agreed Roche. Javert couldn't be sure, but it appeared as though she were thinking aloud. _What did she mean by "Javert is going to be angry?" _he thought.

No matter. This was his fault, and he was honor-bound to do his best to solve the problem. "Roche?" he asked quietly, crouching at her side. "Can you hear me?"

She remained fixated on Montagne and did not answer him. Blinking lazily, she reached towards the younger officer before letting her hand fall into her lap. Her head lolled to one side. "_Mademoiselle!" _Javert exclaimed, but her head came back up a moment later.

"Hungry," she mumbled to herself. "Can't focus."

It appeared that she was more damaged than she had first appeared. He glanced at her forehead and was horrified to see that it was red and shiny, possibly swelling. _What have I done? _he thought darkly. He was not in the habit of checking doors before he opened them. Technically, Roche shared in the blame, for standing directly behind a door that would almost certainly open at some point... but no, he could not lay the fault on her for his mistake.

"_Here's _an idea," said Montagne, punctuating his idea by stabbing at the air with his pointer finger. "Why don't you give her something to eat? She was talking about it earlier, really sad stuff." He nodded sagely.

Javert glanced at him. Coming from the mind of Montagne, it was a suspect plan, but it was better than dragging her all the way to the hospital. Besides, if all she needed was a bit of food, it would save him an expensive hospital admittance.

_I have known you for less than a day, and already you are costing me, _he thought grimly. "Can you stand?" he asked her. When she did not reply, he gave an irritated snort and pulled her to her feet. "Walk," he commanded, prodding her with his elbow. To his relief, she managed a few shaky steps, but he had to nudge her back in the right direction when she got off course.

They had reached the door. Montagne hovered behind them, obviously uncertain. "Go," said Javert. "I will not be returning for some time." The boy nodded, bowed slightly, and scampered off.

The little café was a flowery place that Javert would no doubt never visit again. There were several tables jammed in a corner. In one of the chairs he deposited Roche, who stared at the pattern on the tablecloth as though she were trying to uncover its darkest and best-kept secrets.

The clerk was clearly unhappy to see him again. "One pain au chocolat_," _he ordered. For himself he had gotten the standard brioche_, _but perhaps Roche needed something more flavorful in order to revive.

The clerk came back after several moments with the pastry on a plate and a sour expression on her face. Javert ignored this and pushed the required money across the counter, taking the plate in one hand. Roche was now slumped over the table with her eyes half-closed. She opened them at his approach, and then she noticed what was in his hand.

"Ahh," she said, and reached for it. Hastily he set the plate on the table. She snagged it immediately and drew it close to her person, where she took it in her hands and began taking small, rapid bites. Javert glanced uncomfortably at the other chair. It would be wrong to leave her now. If she was still affected in the head, she would be in no small amount of trouble without his assistance.

Resigned, he sat in the chair and pulled his briochefrom the bag the woman had given him. It was a buttery, flaky thing. He did not particularly enjoy it.

It was only after three minutes that Roche glanced up from her pastry. She seemed surprised to see him, as she snorted and bits of crust floated from her lips. "Inspector Javert," she said warily, and then winced, pressing her fingertips against her left temple. "It appears that I was injured," she mumbled. "Hah. What a surprise." She did not sound terribly surprised.

"You have forgotten?" asked Javert.

Roche frowned and bit into her pastry. "I remember that boy from the police. He was… he wanted me to kiss him." She shuddered and took another bite of food, for solace. "And I wanted food," she said, and blinked. "And I _have _food. Tell me, Inspector. Where did I get this?" She waved the mostly-eaten pain au chocolat in the air before popping it into her mouth and swallowing whole.

"Never mind that," said Javert. "This is my fault."

That one made her raise an eyebrow. "I don't see how this situation could be your fault, Inspector. Unless you clubbed me with the hilt of your sword, in which case I will be leaving." She indicated the door with an actual smile on her face. It was odd, seeing her smile. Somehow, in the short amount of time he'd known her, he had come to assume that she simply didn't smile. Like him.

"I hit your head with the door, _mademoiselle," _he admitted, bowing his head. "I apologize. You were injured rather badly, it seems, and I am in every way responsible."

Roche looked just as disturbed as he felt. "I got hit in the head by a door," she said slowly, "and _that _was enough to make me collapse." Her face was as stony as marble. "And I consider myself strong," she murmured, and gave a short but bitter laugh. "Pathetic."

Javert did not know how to respond to this, and didn't. He was ramrod straight in the little chair, and suddenly unsure as to where he should look. Roche leaned against the table with her elbow and probed at her forehead, wincing slightly when she pressed too hard. "It is not too bad," she said, when she noticed his uncomfortable stare. "I've had worse."

This was a strange and mildly foreboding comment. Once again he was reminded of the fact that he knew next to nothing about her. He could hardly ask her to look into her own past for him… but it would be useful information to have, in the long run. He would order her to go into her escapades in greater detail when he had the time.

Now, however, was not the time. "Are you recovered?" he asked her. She thought about it, and shrugged.

"I'll be alright." It was hardly an answer to his query, but he had grown accustomed to the fact that she never answered questions the right way.

"Again, I apologize," he said, bowing his head. He would not suggest that she press charges, not for a simple mistake like this, but he could hardly prevent her from doing it. To his relief, she only nodded distractedly and went back to chasing crumbs around the table with her forefinger.

_Javert will be angry, _he remembered, and narrowed his eyes. "You were following me," he realized, crossing his arms across his chest. "I gave you a job to do. You are already disobeying me. You cannot expect payment if you continue like this."

She stiffened. "I always follow my clients," she said lightly, as though she were trying to downplay the extremely disturbing nature of that comment. "Just for a while. I have to make sure I have not tied myself to a psychopath or madman, you see."

Javert was not amused. "Do I look like a madman to you, _mademoiselle?"_

"Roche," she corrected, looking him in the eyes with a grave expression. "I don't like _mademoiselle. _I feel as though it should only be used with polite young ladies." She gave a rueful chuckle. "Not with me."

"We are not friends," he said stiffly. "I will not address you informally."

She cocked her head slightly. "Then do not address me at all, Inspector," she said airily. "We'll compromise."

"Very well," he said shortly, giving her a nod. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he glowered at her. "Your attempt to misdirect me was both unfounded and inappropriate. You will answer the question, _mademoi…" _He trailed off before he could finish. "You will answer the question," he said finally.

She glanced up from the tablecloth. "I was not trying to misdirect you," she protested mildly. "But I _will _answer your question, if it troubles you so much. _Non, _I doubt very much that you are psychotic. You have to forgive me, Inspector. I trust my instincts, but I prefer to follow up on them."

Grudgingly, he nodded. "Have you satisfied yourself that I am not trying to kill you?" he asked, his tone vaguely mordacious.

To his surprise, she leaned back in the chair and shook her head. "I follow you, and look what happens. I am almost immediately injured. No,I have not satisfied myself of anything."

Javert snorted. "I am a man of the law. You must have a very low opinion of the Montreuil-sur-Mer police, to think they would be hiring madmen."

"They hired Lafayette," she pointed out. He had nothing to say to that, and she nodded sagely. "Ah," she said. "You see that I am right, Inspector."

"I see nothing of the kind," he retorted. It was a weak response, but he had not come into this prepared to have a verbal battle with a scrap of a girl. In the future, he would remember this.

"In any event," said Roche, after a moment. "I was joking. I don't think you're psychotic."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You are an odd child," he said darkly, standing up. The chair scraped and rattled behind him. "I have business to attend to, now. And so do you," he added, giving her a harsh stare. "If you care for your job so much, you might actually _do _it."

If she had been a cat, he imagined that her ears would have been pressed flat against her skull. "I _told _you what I was doing, _monsieur," _she protested.

Javert had no intention of being drawn back into this conversation. "Indeed. Good day." He nodded at her, moved to exit the shop.

She was out of her chair so quickly that he couldn't quite catch the movement. "One moment," she said, and pointed accusingly at the plate. "Where did I get that, Javert?"

He took a step back. "I would prefer that you address me by rank."

"Right, we are not friends," she said, quoting him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "My apologies, Inspector. I would still like an answer, however."

"And I would like to get back to work. Good day." He started forward, but she remained leaning in the doorway, blocking his path. "Do you willingly obstruct an officer?" he asked quietly, his tone laden with threat.

She didn't seem to notice it. "You bought it for me," she said. She sounded weirdly disappointed. "I wish you hadn't done that, Inspector. I don't like owing people."

He swallowed heavily. "You owe me nothing. _I _injured _you. _The food was meant to bring you to full health. I will not go over this again, and I do not expect to hear any more complaints from you." Finally, blessedly, the girl slouched away from the door and leaned against the yellow plaster wall. He reached for the door handle and took a breath. "_Au revoir," _he said, his voice carrying the commanding air of finality.

She nodded and said nothing at all.

It was only once he'd escaped into the street that he started to relax. _I knew I would regret this decision, _he thought. _I just did not expect to regret it so quickly._

No matter. If things continued as they were going, he'd be firing her by the end of the week. Then, perhaps, he could forget about this whole situation and settle down to some honest work.

It was only his meekest inner voice that retained the opinion that this would not be the case.

And it was no doubt the only one that was correct.

* * *

Once she got into a routine, the days flowed by like water.

Three days had passed, and Roche had fallen into an almost numbness. So far the work had been easy, and everything had gone according to plan. She'd managed to compile a page of notes on Madeleine; his salary, his faith, the little personal life he had. It bothered her how there was next to nothing about his early life—he'd appeared in Montreuil-sur-Mer with a bag of silver and no papers, and things had gone from there. It was obvious that he had some kind of story, but she wasn't about to guess at it.

_When I meet with Javert, I'll ask him why he cares about the mayor at all, _she thought. She was sitting on the sun-warmed roof of Madeleine's factory, kicking her legs and waiting for the mayor to exit the building. She'd tailed him for three days and had discovered nothing of interest. Tomorrow if things went well she'd probably approach him. The easiest way to find out more about a person was to maneuver them into talking about it, and Roche considered herself an expert in that field.

The sun was sinking rapidly. The air was chilly in these winter months, and Roche's tiny room did not help to keep the drafts out. She found herself keeping sporadic hours anyway, in order to effectively follow the mayor. She had no trouble running on a few hours of sleep, was used to it, in fact.

The sky had turned grey by the time Mayor Madeleine hurried from his factory. _He has an odd way of walking, _she thought, perched on the edge of the roof like a vulture. _He is very… jumpy. Suspicious, to be certain. Yes, he has something to hide._

She straightened out and walked along the edge of the roof. At the end of the block she'd have to come down, but she enjoyed following him so far above his head, where there was a minimal danger of being spotted.

She sighed resignedly when she reached the lip of the roof. After a few moments to allow him a head start, she swung from the rooftop to the wooden scaffold that had been erected years ago and never taken down. From there it was a simple hop to street level. No one saw her, and she hurried into the night undetected.

As she'd suspected, the mayor went directly home, pausing only to collect some bread from one of the nicer bakeries. Roche's stomach growled, which gave her pause. Ever since the disaster with Inspector Javert, she'd made sure to keep something in her stomach. Every evening she would make a point to visit Fantine. The _grisette _had gotten a large loaf of bread, and they'd done their best to make it last. _It is probably gone now, though, _thought Roche, with a frown. _I suppose we will get another. _The five francs had to last; Roche was reluctant to spend any of them, especially on something as mundane as food.

Once the mayor had safely locked himself away, she collapsed against the side of a house and assessed her options. The night had fallen more quickly than she'd expected. Fantine would probably be asleep by this hour. But Roche was loath to experience another embarrassing hunger-induced episode. She had a spare key to Fantine's; she'd slip in, grab a chunk of bread (if there was any left) and slip out. Her friend wouldn't mind.

Her walk to the docks was filled with quiet contemplation. Something was _certainly _the matter with Fantine, and she intended to find out what it was. Perhaps tonight, if she had a little bit of spare time. _I am doing this for Fantine, _she thought, _but this job is taking away all the time I have. _She hadn't really been expecting the inspector to have something concrete for her on the first day. She'd been hoping for the odd job here or there, enough to keep food on the table.

_But I shouldn't be complaining, _she reminded herself. _He didn't _have _to hire me._

She turned onto Fantine's street and was unsurprised that the lights were off. She paused for a moment at the threshold of the door, smiling lightly. It was odd of her to be sentimental, but the idea of Fantine, safe and warm in her bed, made Roche feel slightly better about the state of affairs in the world.

Fishing through her pockets alerted her to the distressing fact that the key was not there. _I must have left it at home, _she thought, and grimaced. _What is the point of a key to Fantine's house if I don't actually have it?_

She'd have to knock. "Sorry, Fantine," she mumbled, and rapped on the door. When that failed to produce any results, she knocked again. She was suddenly nervous. Ice radiated from her stomach to her skull.

She remembered how, three nights previous, she'd come to the house to discover that Fantine's beautiful, thick brown hair was gone. Cut, shorn, clipped. Fantine seemed so fragile without it.

Roche had been furious. They'd had a dreadful fight, which ended with Roche sitting on the threshold of the door for several hours in a stewing temper. Eventually it had gotten too cold, and Fantine had come to fetch her. They hadn't exchanged words of forgiveness, but it was clear that the row was over and done with.

_Perhaps she's out, _Roche reflected. _And that is what scares me._

She could think of several things that Fantine had left to sell, and they all made her vaguely nauseous. Sex, teeth, eyes… Well, Roche was not too certain about the last one. But she _had _heard rumors about it on the odd occasion.

She knew with a sudden conviction that Fantine was not going to answer the door. "_Damn _it," she swore, taking a step back and running her fingers through her thick hair. Where Fantine was concerned, Roche was easily inflamed. Roche cared for no one else in the world. Once in a while, she considered the fact that all the emotion that she should feel for a variety of people was focused solely on Fantine, which would explain Roche's volatile nature when it came to the _grisette. But no, _Roche thought, taking a deep breath. _I just don't have the capacity to care, do I? _The thought made her sad.

No time for sad thoughts. Briskly, she rubbed her hands together and set off, the docks her destination. If Fantine was to be selling anything, she'd go there.

Roche was too nervous to smile, but she did feel a slight lightening of spirit as she passed the spot she'd abandoned Inspector Javert. _What a dark man, _she thought, and frowned slightly. _He reminds me… he reminds me of me. _An interesting thought.

There was a crowd of people by the bow of one of the ships. Roche, her heart suddenly pounding, began to hurry. The crowd had started to disperse by the time she slipped among them. She could hear people shouting, complaining, but she had stopped dead and could not hear them.

There. There, at the far end of the ship, Fantine stepped lightly. She held the hand of a man in a uniform. They slipped into the darkness, disappeared.

Wildly, she whipped around. The people had mostly gone now, but there were a few left, a man and three women. Twitching, she stalked towards the man. He glanced up at her approach, a lecherous smile contorting his features. "Here now, who's this?" he asked, shrugging one humped shoulder.

She did not feel like exchanging pleasantries with this man. "What was that?" she exclaimed, pointing over her shoulder. "What was that girl doing?"

The man's eyes widened. "What's it look like, love? Spreading her legs for a little extra chink, I'd say." He tipped his black hat with a wink.

Roche's emotions were, as always, internal. But they burned in her throat like fire, and she closed her eyes. _Fantine, you fool, _she thought, and wrung her sweaty hands. _Fantine, you lovely fool._

Her internal scream had quieted into a dull murmur. She felt as though she were standing at the edge of the precipice, about to take the step that would bring her over the edge. _I am about to do something very stupid, _she thought.

"Who made her do this?" she asked quietly.

The man was confused. He looked at the women for support and then bent over so their faces were level. "_Made _her do it? Nobody made her do anything."

"It's you, isn't it?" said Roche firmly. "You're the one who's selling her. Like an _animal." _She growled the last word so forcefully that flecks of spittle sprayed the man in the face. With a grimace, he wiped at his skin with his tattered coat sleeve.

"Yeah? What's it to you?" he asked finally.

Roche was well aware that she could not stop Fantine from doing this. The _grisette _was much too stubborn to agree to stop, especially if the money was going towards the child. But this man, with his rotten teeth and his perverted grin… Well. Surely there were other people to choose.

"You will stop," said Roche quietly. "Stop selling her."

The man reeled back, his expression mirthful. "Stop? Hah! Look at the little princess, telling me to stop!" He leaned close to her, so that his nose brushed against hers. "Why don't you run back home, little girl?" he suggested, his voice gravelly. "We don't want little shits like you hanging around."

Roche did not blink. "Stop selling her," she repeated.

He just smiled. "No. What are you going to do about it, you little slut?"

She gave a nasally sigh and pressed one hand against her temple. "You are beginning to annoy me," she said, gritting her teeth. "This is not a request. You will _stop selling her."_

He laughed again, although his voice was unsure. "Why don't you make me, then? Come on!" He shoved her lightly; it was hardly enough to make her stumble, and she remained rigidly in place.

"Luc," said one of the women in a husky whisper. Her tone was warning.

"Relax, Elise," said Luc. "I'm just playing around. Yeah?" He turned back to Roche, gave her another little shove. "All in good fun!" He shoved her again, harder.

She closed her eyes. "If you touch me again," she said, "then I will attack you." When there was no response, she opened her eyes and locked onto his blue ones. "This will be your only warning. Best to take advantage of it, _monsieur."_

He raised his eyebrows. "What, the little bitch wants to play? Come on!" He moved closer to her, reached out one hand with great ceremony. Lightly, his fingertips skimmed across her collarbone.

Roche was a sneak, a stalker, a specter in the shadows. She was an informant, a snitch, a veritable font of personal knowledge.

She was also a bit of a fighter.

She grabbed his wrist, jerked him forward. He cried out as she pitched him to the ground, and screeched as she stomped directly on his hand. She hadn't pressed hard enough to break anything, but he scrambled to his feet and cradled his wounded hand as though it were a broken bird.

"You psycho little _brat," _he hissed. She said nothing in response, choosing instead to shrug out of her constricting cloak. The cold hit her like the pricks of a thousand icy needles, but her heart was racing. The cold would not bother her for long.

To her shock, and then horror, Luc reached into the folds of his tattered coat and retrieved a long, slim object. _Knife, _she thought, taking a step back. _I am unarmed. _She was reminded of how stupid she'd been, picking this fight. _For you, Fantine, _she thought.

"Luc!" shouted Elise. She and the other women scattered backwards as Luc slashed outwards. Roche jumped back, barely avoiding the glimmering strip of metal. Merde_, _she thought, as she cocked her head. _I need a weapon of my own. _Luc slashed again, and she jerked roughly to the left. He followed up with a jab at her stomach which forced her to drop to the frozen ground.

On hands and knees now, she scrambled towards a pair of crates thrown off to one side. A kick from Luc had pain radiating from her ankle, but she'd reached the crates. Leaning up against them was a long metal tool with prongs at the end. _For teeth, _thought Roche numbly, before snatching it.

She whipped around and was rewarded as her tool locked with Luc's blade. He spat at her; she regarded him calmly, unmoving but for the strain in her forearms. The two separated, both trembling from exertion.

Roche moved first. The heavy metal thing was hard to wield and awkward in her hands, and as she swung she knew she'd overshot it. "_Merde," _she hissed, and then icy pain erupted in her shoulder. She glanced down with wide eyes at the cut shorn through her plain white shirt. A ribbon of blood danced on Luc's blade; a river dampened the fabric at her collarbone. _An epaulette of blood, _she thought ruefully, idly jumping away from another swing. _Hah._

Luc charged forward with the blade aimed at her ribcage. She looked into his eyes and wondered if he had the wherewithal to actually kill her. She imagined the blade sinking through her skin, embedding itself in her internal organs. He was probably thinking about the same thing.

He came within a few feet of her, and this time her strike was perfect.

The metal tool connected with the side of his jaw. It was a solid blow that sent vibrations up and down both her arms. Luc reeled to the side and collapsed on the ground. Before he had a chance to get to his feet, Roche hurled herself on his fallen form. Raising the tool over her head, she brought it down on every unprotected part of his body she could reach. Vaguely, she felt his teeth sinking into her uninjured shoulder. The knife scratched at her ribs but did not sink in between them; she _knew _he'd have misgivings about killing her.

She managed to kick the knife out of his hands; a few blows later he batted the tool away. Now all they had left were their fists. Luc grabbed her about the neck and squeezed; she rained fists down on his cheekbones and nose. One of his hands clawed at her eyebrow and she hissed as it drew blood.

"Police! Police!"

It was a universal call for peace. Both combatants stopped dead. Luc's hands went slack around her neck; Roche stopped gnawing on his ear. A bit of a crowd had formed around them, which blocked them from the view of whoever had come to break up the battle.

Neither of them had to say anything. It was practically law that a situation like this demanded truce. Both of them were on their feet with their arms slung around each other in seconds flat.

A uniformed figure was shoving through the people. Roche caught Luc's eye and began to laugh. He caught on quickly and his wheezy chuckle joined hers.

"What a relief!" said Roche quickly, patting him on the shoulder. "I was worried the fall might have injured you, friend!"

Luc let out a bellow. "Look at yourself!" he exclaimed, tweaking her cheek (a bit painfully.) "You're the one looking beat up, love!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

The voice was dark, low, and recognizable. Roche glanced up, blinking blood from her eyebrow out of her right eye. "Inspector!" she said, smiling weakly. Javert narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Explain." It was not an order she could wriggle out of. Hoping that Luc was as good at improvisation as she was, Roche launched into her tale.

"I was messing around, I'll admit it," she began, nodding towards the discarded metal tool. The knife, thankfully, had skidded out of sight during the scuffle. "I was swinging it around, trying to show him how strong I am." Luc chuckled, nodding. _Good actor. _"And, would you know, I hit him! Right in the face!" She laughed, and shrugged. "He was so surprised, he thought I was attacking him and slashed at me with his weapon. Perfectly understandable."

"Right," said Luc, nodding sagely. "And then, would you believe it, she tripped! We both went down. Cut herself on the crate, too," he added, nodding towards Roche's bloody eyebrow.

Javert seemed skeptical. _Well, of course he does. He isn't an idiot. _"And you had just enough time to remove your cloak?_" _he asked, eyeing the crumpled fabric on the ground.

She realized that it was the first time he'd seen her without it. She imagined that he was judging her trousers very harshly. _No matter. _She forced a smile on her face. "I took it off previously. I was… I was hot."

Javert raised an eyebrow. "In this weather? I'm surprised. Someone with such a delicate constitution should be cold on nights like this."

She blinked at him. "Delicate constitution? If you are referring to our previous misadventure with the door…" She trailed off at the look he was giving her.

Javert stepped forward, his boots clicking on the hard ground. "I'm sure you are both aware that fighting in a public place is both disruptive and disturbing to the general populace."

"Fighting?"

"We would never, mister!"

He fixed them each with a cold stare. "Was anyone here a witness to this… accident?"

Timidly, Elise stepped forward. "I… I saw it, sir. Happened just as they said it did." She nodded rapidly.

Javert seemed surprised. "I doubt that very much," he mumbled to himself. "Nevertheless," he said, in a louder voice, "I will not take action without _someone _filing a report. I am sure that none of you are willing to do that."

No one said anything. The docks, for the first time Roche had ever seen, were eerily quiet.

"I do not expect to hear of this behavior again," said Javert. "There will be no second offense, lest the two of you work out your differences in a cell."

"We wasn't fighting, sir…" Luc began.

"Hold your tongue!" Javert snapped. After a moment, he went on. "I do not pardon either of you out of pity," he said sternly. "If you dare to repeat the offence, I will be as harsh as the law allows." He took a step back, regarded both of them. "You," he said, stabbing his finger in Roche's direction. "You will come with me."

"But…" she started, and closed her mouth at the expression on his face.

Slowly, she slipped through the crowd, pausing to collect her cloak. She was suddenly chilled to the core. She slipped the fabric over her shoulders and slunk to Javert's side, feeling like a dog after a kicking. Her shoulder ached so brutally that her fingers wouldn't close properly, and her eyebrow stung whenever she changed facial expressions.

Javert did not look at her. "Come," he said, and began to walk rapidly from the scene. Roche took a sharp breath. She had wanted to wait for Fantine to emerge, to comfort her friend if possible. But it might be better if Fantine recovered alone, anyway. She bit her lip and hurried after the inspector.

It was only once they were a safe way from the docks that Javert spoke. "You are dismissed," he said quietly. "I do not want to hear from you again."

The blood from her eyebrow had traveled all the way to her cheek. Absentmindedly she reached up and tried to brush it away. It trailed along her skin in thick red swathes.

"If you dismiss me," she said, after a moment. "I won't give you this." From inside her cloak she withdrew the notes on Madeleine. They were slightly crumpled but had survived the night well. "And you'll never know."

Javert whirled on her. "You dare to _blackmail _me!" he exclaimed.

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm not blackmailing you," she said, and blinked slowly as the blood stung her pupil. "I'm making an offer. Take it or leave it."

He glared at her for several minutes. "Give me that paper," he said finally, extending his hand to take it from her. Nostrils flared, she retreated several paces.

"No," she said. "Not until you promise not to fire me."

Javert bared his teeth. "I am not in the mood to play games, child! _Give me that paper." _He started forward and she took another step back, stepping awkwardly on her injured ankle. The pain was sudden and intense; she blanched white as a sheet and toppled backwards, collapsing in a heap on the cobblestones. Grimacing, she sat up and reached out for her ankle, massaging the life back into it. She did not notice the paper until Javert plucked it from her side.

He read over the notes efficiently. Glowering at him, she rotated her foot until she felt she could stand again. She clambered to her feet and leaned against the side of a house.

He looked up after several moments. His face betrayed nothing, but she got the impression that he was impressed. "You discovered this all in three days?" he asked her.

She nodded tightly. "I am good at what I do," she said, repeating what she'd told him those days ago.

He seemed as though he were engaged in some kind of intense mental struggle. At length, he nodded and handed her back the paper. "I… I will allow you to continue your work," he said finally. "But I do not want to see this happen again. I do not care what possessed you to be drawn into that battle. You _do not _fight if you are a subordinate of Javert."

She took the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. "Subordinate of Javert," she said. "Is that what I am?"

"You are whatever you wish to be," he said cagily. "Good evening." He gave his customary nod and turned, striding into the darkness.

She let him go. Her heart was still pounding uncomfortably, and her cuts ached. Her shoulder was going to need bandages, and there were multiple scratches on her ribs that could use some attention. She sighed, reaching up to her bloody eyebrow. The cut had partially clotted, but the blood still clung to her fingertips as she pulled them away.

"I'm an idiot," she said.

The stars, twinkling brightly in their velvet sky, seemed to agree with her.

* * *

_**Translations:**_

_Mon dieu- _my God


	3. Lettre

Javert had quickly adapted to life as the Montreuil-sur-Mer police inspector. He would enter the station early, when the place was still empty, and would file the reports and necessary paperwork as quickly as time allowed. Then it was the patrol for him. He rather enjoyed the amount of time spent in the sun and cool air of Montreuil-sur-Mer. The job had nothing to do with his pleasure, of course, but he felt considerably more relaxed than he'd been during the time at Toulon.

Thinking about Toulon made him frown. Javert had worked his way up from nothing; it was only to be expected that he experience time as a prison guard before he be promoted to inspector. But he had hated Toulon, very much so. It reminded him of his childhood, and anything that reminded him of that time was to be loathed.

He forced himself to take a breath. It wouldn't do for him to be unfocused. The morning was still advancing; there was work to be done.

It was only when he approached the door to the station that he noticed the straw-haired young man leaning against the door. Javert's expression turned stony. It had not yet been a week, and Montagne had achieved second place on Javert's list of individuals to keep an eye on. First place was tied between Roche and Madeleine. Neither of them seemed particularly trustworthy.

Montagne bounded up to the disgruntled inspector, waving a piece of paper. "Hey! Mister Inspector sir!" he called, sounding delighted. "I was waiting for _hours," _he said confidentially, stopping in front of Javert. "Letter for you, sir!" he said, slamming the bit of paper against Javert's chest. "Came in last night, so I had to get up early so I could catch you, and why do you get up so early and…"

Javert tuned him out, turning the letter over in his palm. _From Paris, _he thought. Perhaps it was a letter of congratulation on his successful integration into the community of Montreuil-sur-Mer, although that seemed like a waste of paper.

Indeed, the letter had little to do with his post. Javert scanned it with a slight frown. Apparently the head inspector was required to obtain several orders of standard paper from Mayor Madeleine's factory, for use as filing material. It seemed like something any idiot could do, but Javert, with a sidelong glance at the babbling Montagne, decided that it would be better if he handled it himself.

"You've done admirably," he said absentmindedly, turning away. "Now it is back to work for you."

Montagne gasped. "But—but Mister Inspector! It's _early!"_

Javert paused, gave him a dark glare. "Do you think crime is willing to wait on account of it being early?" he asked, his voice soft and dangerous.

"Well," said Montagne. "_Probably _not, but I'll bet you the cons are tired too…" He trailed off at the expression Javert was giving him.

"No," said Javert. "Crime does not sleep. Neither, then, can the Law."

Montagne nodded rapidly, backing away. "_Right, _Mister Inspector!" he said, with a nervous chuckle. "Crime doesn't sleep, no sleep for me, got it sir!"

Javert looked after him for a moment, nostrils slightly flared. Then, shaking his head, he stepped into the street. _I will have to demote that child, _he thought. _He does not have the necessary focus for this profession. _

Behind the station was a dirty, sunless stable where the horses were fed and housed. Javert had been issued Lafayette's old horse. He was a white gelding; sensitive and battle-hardened. He glanced up at Javert's approach and bowed his head, long eyelashes flickering.

Javert had never particularly liked horses. Now, however, his opinion had changed. Javert prided himself on having unshakable opinions, but he could not deny that he was somewhat fond of the horse. Horses, unlike humans, were not judgmental or cruel. Javert did not have any time for friends in his line of work, but he had grudgingly allowed the horse a place on the extremely limited list of things he liked.

Once he'd saddled up, he nudged the horse gently in the ribs and they set off down the street. Madeleine's factory was not particularly far away; indeed, _nothing _was very far away in a small town like this. The horse was simply a way of making an impression. A man in uniform striding through the streets was imposing enough, but that man on a horse could be enough to quell the criminal urges of the weak-minded.

The sun had just cleared the rooftops when Javert's horse came to a stop in the square outside Madeleine's factory. Women were streaming in through the large open doors, busily pulling their hair back and chattering among each other. Javert nodded slightly to himself. Good, honest work. He rarely had the chance to observe such work anymore. It made him slightly more hopeful for the future of France and her people.

A set of wooden stairs led to Madeleine's office. Javert swung his leg over the horse's broad back. He had about lowered himself to the ground when a ragged figure stumbled towards the stairs. He was filled immediately with a sense of distrust, and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

It was only when the figure turned so he could see its profile that he recognized the thin nose and wild hair. _This cannot be, _he thought numbly. Only last night he had come across her, and here she was again.

She looked like she had been through some kind of hell. _This is what happens to those who cause trouble, _thought Javert, narrowing his eyes. It appeared as though formal punishment was not necessary after all; Roche looked as though she'd been beaten near to death. Her customary woolen cloak was gone, replaced by some ragged shawl, and her clothing was tattered. Her face was scratched and dirty. As he watched, she glanced up the stairs, and then frowned. Biting her lip, she reached up and lightly brushed her fingertips against the thick cut over her eyebrow. She scraped at it with a fingernail and winced. He saw her mumble something to herself, and then she tore at the flesh.

He started forward, alarmed. She worked rapidly; by the time he'd halved the distance between them, her nails had torn the clotted cut to bloody shreds. She was panting heavily, in obvious pain. Blood dripped from the cut to her eye socket.

She reached up with trembling fingers and he grabbed her by the wrist. She jumped visibly; it seemed that she had not noticed him there. "Inspector," she said, and trembled slightly. "_Excusez-moi. _I might have waited, had I known you were following me."

"I was not…" He paused, glanced away for a moment. "What were you _doing?" _he managed finally, squeezing her wrist. Blood from her nails stained the back of her palm.

With the blood running from her eyebrow, she looked almost demonic. "Inspiring pity," she said simply. "I intend to speak with Mayor Madeleine today. I need a reason." She blinked slowly, and a bead of blood gathered at the corner of her eye like a tear. "I was already injured; it was nothing drastic or difficult. I'm sure he will respond well to a young woman in need of assistance."

Javert held up her bloody hand accusingly. "There are other ways to get his attention," he exclaimed, shaking her limp wrist slightly. "It is foolish to injure yourself without good cause."

"I _have _good cause," said Roche. Javert held her gaze for a moment and then dropped her wrist. Her arm swung to her side, hand smeared with red.

Roche glanced up the stairs. "You should go," she said. "I'll be talking to him now."

Javert frowned. "I am here for _Monsieur_ Madeleine as well," he admitted. "Perhaps we might visit him together."

She gave him a look. "That would make more sense if I wasn't _bleeding, _Inspector. You might have mentioned that you had a plan, before I did this."

Javert took a deep breath. "I am not here because of any _plan," _he exclaimed. "I have official business with the mayor. This has nothing to do with you and your job."

Roche sighed heavily. "I wish you'd said something earlier, then," she exclaimed, slumping against the side of the factory. "Now I'll have to do this again." She indicated the bleeding forehead with a flippant wave of her hand.

Javert narrowed his eyes. "You will not reopen that cut," he ordered her. "It is foolish and overly dramatic. Find some other excuse."

She wiped at the blood with the back of her hand. "I am the expert here, Inspector," she said softly. "I am not so sure you know what you are asking me to do."

"I know that I might still arrest you for last night's public disturbance," Javert warned her. "I am your superior. You _will _do what I tell you. This is non-negotiable, _mademoiselle." _It was only once the word fell from his lips that he remembered how she disliked it. "_Pardon," _he said quickly. "I should not call you that."

She had looked angry, up until his last few words. Now she looked slightly unsure. "It is fine," she said finally, looking away from him. "It doesn't bother me particularly. It is simply a matter of preference." She closed her eyes. "You should go," she said. "I will wait for you to finish your business_." _As he stepped past her, she opened one eye, lizard-like. "We have much to discuss, _monsieur _Inspector," she said. "The week will be at its end very soon. Perhaps when we are both done with _Monsieur le Maire_, we should be making some kind of arrangement."

Javert did not want to be reminded of the deal he'd made with her. But it was for a good cause, and when it was over he would not have to see her again. "Very well," he agreed. "I will wait for you here." She nodded and closed her eye again. Blood trickled down her cheek. He turned his head away. "You would do well to wipe that away," he said, without looking at her. "You will draw far too much attention to yourself in that condition."

To his surprise, she only chuckled softly. "_Non," _she said. "I look like a rat. And nobody cares about a rat that bleeds."

He would have contradicted her, but her eyes were closed and she looked almost as if she were asleep. The blood made her face chalk white. Spurred on by a sense of curiosity, he glanced about the street. A few people cast curious glances their way; but they were looking at _him, _he realized. There was no interest in the bleeding girl at all.

He looked out at the street for a few moments more before starting up the stairs.

The door to Madeleine's office was firmly closed. Javert removed his hat and rapped on the oak with his knuckles. There was a pause. "Come in!" The voice was placid, pleasant, and _familiar. _Javert narrowed his eyes before his hand closed around the iron knob.

He opened the door and stepped into the room. Madeleine was slumped behind the desk, holding a paper in his hand. He glanced up with a small smile on his face. When he saw his caller, his smile dimmed and vanished completely.

"Inspector Javert!" he exclaimed, sounding as though he were trying his best to sound amiable. "You will have to excuse me, sir," he said, with a small (nervous) chuckle. He indicated the mess of papers on his desk with a wave of his hand, dropping the one he had been holding onto the pile. "I was not expecting company."

Javert had no intention of engaging in small talk with this man, this… _No, _he thought. _I cannot condemn this man just yet. Not until I am sure. _He was very nearly sure already; he had never been wrong about something like this. But it could not hurt to wait, just for a while. If Madeleine really was Valjean, he would be more likely to make a damning mistake given time.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment to nod, confirming that he had, in fact, been listening to Madeleine's apology. Shaking his head slightly, he reached into his pocket for the folded letter. "I've come on behalf of the police department of Montreuil-sur-Mer…" he said, deliberately letting the sentence dangle. Madeleine gave him a nod and a smile; his face betrayed nothing. His hands, however, were moving surreptitiously towards the paper from before. Javert made sure not to look directly at it, and did not acknowledge the motion. Stealthily, he watched.

"We are in need of a good amount of paper," he said finally, placing the letter on Madeleine's desk. Madeleine sighed, looking slightly relieved.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Normally InspectorLafayette would send Montagne over with the paper orders, but I see you are more fond of the hands-on approach." His smile was friendly and betrayed nothing. But when Javert leaned a bit closer to the desk, Madeleine yanked open a drawer, shrugged apologetically, and swept the paper inside.

"I will apologize again for the mess," he said, closing the drawer with a click. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to hire someone for this kind of thing. It was naïve of me to think I could do all this work by myself!"

Idle chitchat again. Normally Javert would have none of it, but here was a golden chance to press Madeleine for information. "Of course, sir. I understand that a man with beginnings like yours might think that way."

Madeleine's reaction could not have been more damning. "What?" he asked, hands poised over his desk. "What do you know of my past?" His tone was grating.

Javert bowed slightly. "Forgive me. I was told that you came to this town a stranger, and worked your way up to the position you have today. I meant no offense."

"Ah," said Madeleine, nodding slightly. "Yes. That is true." He seemed visibly deflated, and sank into his chair. "I will process your order at once," he said. "We should have it in the next few days."

Javert nodded. "Thank you, _Monsieur le Maire." _Madeleine said nothing else; it was as close to a dismissal as Javert expected to get. He gave a short bow and exited the office.

The morning had finally arrived; the sun was fat and golden in the sky. Javert pulled his hat onto his head and started down the steps. Roche was sitting exactly where he'd left her; it appeared as though she hadn't moved at all. He started towards her and then stopped, feeling like a fool. He'd meant to have Madeleine relinquish that paper of his, that he'd been so anxious to hide. It was too late now.

Or was it? Roche had opened her eyes and was now looking at him with an expectant, sleepy expression. _If she is as good as she says, _Javert thought, _she could obtain that paper and return it without Madeleine ever noticing._

It was a ridiculous thought. But it was equally absurd to entertain the notion of writing to Paris without some kind of solid proof. So decided, Javert walked down the steps until he was level with Roche's still form.

"I suppose it's my turn, then?" she asked, nodding up at the steps.

Gravely, he shook his head. "_Non." _He glanced about; there were people everywhere that could easily overhear them. He sighed internally and leaned down. "Do you know of any suitable place for a… conversation?" he asked, stressing the last word slightly.

She raised her eyebrows and then winced; it seemed as though she'd forgotten about the cut. "Yes," she said, resting her chin on her elbow. "Why? Would you like me to take you to one of them?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes."

She got to her feet, making a point to rotate one of her ankles. _Perhaps she injured it last night. _Thinking about the night previous gave Javert a sour feeling in his gut. There wasn't much he could have done. It was possible for him to arrest the both of them, but everyone there seemed willing to corroborate with their ridiculous story. He had no proof and no way of proving anything. But he would be reminding Roche of his supposed mercy at every opportunity, if it would only keep her in line.

Roche had gotten to her feet and now looked behind her, waiting for him. "Inspector," she said, nodding to where he'd tied the horse. "You are leaving him behind?"

"We will be returning here," said Javert firmly. "The horse will be alright until then."

Roche began to walk slowly. Her limp was not exaggerated, but it was obvious that walking caused her some kind of distress. Her face, however, betrayed no pain or self-pity. "That horse has a name, you know," she said, sounding vaguely disapproving. "Inspector Lafayette called him Gymont."

She was in front of him; the only thing he could look at were the curls at the back of her head. But he gave them an incredulous look all the same. "How would you possibly know what Inspector Lafayette called his horse?"

She shrugged, and then clapped a hand to her shoulder. "_Merde," _she muttered. After a pause, during which she clutched at her shoulder, she let go and glanced at him. "I know everything about this town," she said quietly. "Must I always repeat myself, _Monsieur _Inspector?" A wry grin flashed across her face.

If it was a verbal battle she was after, he would not be baited into participating. "Where are we going?" he asked instead. They had stepped onto a side street and were heading into a part of the town he only vaguely recognized.

Roche did not answer. A moment later, they emerged from the small street and were standing on the banks of the river that cut through Montreuil-sur-Mer. A bridge spanned the gap in front of them, and Roche was moving purposefully towards the side. She slipped up onto the little wall and extended her injured ankle, rubbing it harshly against stone. She smiled a little, although the smile was obviously strained.

"This is hardly a private place…" Javert began, and then the smell hit him. It was like a corpse, or several dozen corpses, that had been steaming in the mud for five hot summer days. He had spent so long at Toulon that smells did not particularly disturb him, and after a few shallow breaths and a lot of blinking, he was able to overcome the frightful scent. Roche did not seem at all bothered by it, and raised an eyebrow at his quick recovery.

"Not many people come here," she said, "and those who do don't linger on account of the smell. But really, if you come here enough it doesn't bother you much."

He took a cautious step forward. She was sprawled out on the edge of the bridge like a great cat, seemingly at ease with the drop behind her. "Very well," he said. "This place will do."

"It'll have to," she said ruefully. "There are other places, but they're far away, and I'm not up for walking." Gently, she wrapped her fingers around her ankle and squeezed. "_Merde," _she said again, conversationally. "I should wrap this or something." _But I won't. _It was an unnecessary, unspoken addition to her statement.

Javert was not sure how to begin. When he had taken her on, he had not imagined himself asking her for help in any specific sort of way. She seemed to sense his insecurity, but made no move to alleviate the tension, choosing instead to massage her ankle with her fingertips.

"It seems as though I am need of your assistance after all," said Javert finally. The sentence had come out entirely wrong; he sounded subservient and he did not like it. "Do not inflate your sense of worth," he said quickly, because she'd turned to him with a stupefied but triumphant expression. "If I could trust Officer Montagne to do this, I would."

"I'm sure," she said, in a tone that suggested she thought nothing of the kind. She rested her chin on her knee and gave him a dour expression. "It seems as though the fates do not want me to speak to _Monsieur _Madeleine," she remarked. "What is it that you require, Inspector? If it is another job I _will _be charging extra."

"It is not," said Javert, taking a step forward. "I need you to retrieve something from Mayor Madeleine's office."

She raised an eyebrow. "Steal something, you mean? A police officer wants me to steal something?" She gave him a knowing look. "I'm sure you can appreciate the irony there."

"You will not be _stealing _it," said Javert. "There is a letter he attempted to hide from me. I simply wish to examine the letter. Then you will return it."

"A letter." Roche sounded oddly disappointed. "This seems a sizeable amount of trouble to retrieve a letter."

"I did not bring you here to discuss your opinions on my judgment," said Javert.

"True," Roche replied. "_I _brought us here, if I remember correctly. _You _walked behind me."

He glared at her. "If you continue with your supposed wit, I will take my business elsewhere."

"There isn't anywhere else to take your business," said Roche, stretching out. But the expression on his face was murderous, and she blanched slightly. "Very well. It doesn't matter who the leader was," she conceded. She swung her legs towards the ground and hopped off the wall, before grimacing in pain and swearing quietly. "This damned ankle," she said despairingly, rotating it back and forth. "I do not have time to deal with this."

"Perhaps you should have been thinking about that last night," said Javert, who did not have the capacity to pity her when it was her own fault.

Her expression darkened. "Perhaps you should not speak of what does not concern you."

Javert narrowed his eyes. "Your misdemeanor concerns me as much as it concerns any officer of the law. You are lucky you were not fined or imprisoned for your little game."

She glanced up, and her eyes were dark. "I do not play games with my life, _monsieur," _she exclaimed. "I was not _playing _last night. I was… I was defending."

He was intrigued, and he was not supposed to be. "If it was justice you were defending, the law would have stepped in."

Tiredly, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. "_Non. _The law would not have stepped in. It never does." She had quiet bitterness in her tone. When she looked at him, he saw not a girl but a wounded animal with hackles raised and white teeth gleaming.

After a moment, she looked away. "You want a plan. Don't you?"

"_Pardon," _he said slowly, after a moment. "I don't follow."

"I am not going to… visit _Monsieur le Maire _without some sort of plan," she said, as though it were obvious. "I don't suppose you have one?"

He was irritated. "_I_ am not an expert in the field of thievery, if this is what you are suggesting."

She ignored him, furrowing her brow. Slowly, she turned towards the river. Her dark eyes were fixed on the water and for several minutes she said nothing at all.

Javert did not know her very well, but he recognized the brooding expression and he knew that she was thinking. At one point, her lips curled away from her teeth in a strange, perverse grin, and he realized that she'd gotten it.

"You will get him out of his office," she said, "and then I'll go in. Simple."

Javert blinked. "You said you were an expert." His tone was flat, dangerous.

She turned to look at him with a dour expression. "I never said anything about thievery," she protested mildly. "You assumed that. In any case, I don't see anything particularly wrong with that plan."

"That is because it is not a plan at all," said Javert. "It doesn't even constitute the skeleton of a plan. It is the barest of minimums."

She shrugged. "If you are scared of participating…" She left the challenge open.

He gave her a look. "I am in no way frightened of the mayor," he said. "If anyone should be cautious, it is you. The man is quite strong, and more than capable of punishing thieves."

She cocked her head. "You send me into danger, sir," she said. The blood had caked on her forehead and looked like a banner on her skull. "Still, it is nothing I cannot handle." She stepped towards him, wrapping her cloak more securely around her person. "You must bring _Monsieur _Madeleine outside," she said. "Do try to stall him for as long as you can. It should be enough."

He still thought it was a ridiculous plan, but it seemed that Roche was not willing to accept any other course of action. "Very well," he said abruptly, wheeling about. "We will do it now." _Before you lose your nerve, _he thought to himself. Roche seemed rather foolish in regards to personal safety, but even she would eventually come to her senses.

For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt in his exploitation of her idiocy. _But she will come to no harm, _he told himself. _I will protect her from _Monsieur _Madeleine's ire, if it comes to that._ Hopefully it would not.

The walk back to the factory was uneventful. Roche was quiet, probably mulling over the plan. She interrupted the silence only once, to ask him the location of the letter. He told her, and they fell silent once more. He appreciated her apparent dislike of idle chatter; in many ways she would make an excellent officer of the law.

_Of course, in many ways she would a farce of an officer, _he reminded himself. _But that is neither here nor there. She is a young woman. _Two disqualifying factors, one of which would prevent her from ever defending the law on a professional level.

The square had emptied. The workers were safely inside, and it was apparently an unpopular place to stand and talk. _That is good, _he thought, glancing up the stairs to Madeleine's office.

Roche noticed him looking and glanced up as well. "Are you prepared?" she asked softly. Without waiting for his reply, she pulled up her hood. It was a large hood and it swallowed her head completely. Only the odd brown curl could be seen peeking out from behind the fabric, as well as the tip of her nose.

To his surprise, she padded towards the scaffolding at the corner of the factory building. She grabbed at one of the wooden bars and hoisted herself up, crouching for a moment before slipping onto the wooden platform and flattening herself so as to disappear from sight. Javert almost called after her, but refrained himself. The message was clear. _Act now._

He was halfway up the stairs before he realized that he had nothing to tell the mayor. _If he is who I think he is, it won't matter, _Javert thought grimly. _He will follow me when I tell him to follow me. He will not take any risks._

The door loomed before him. He swallowed and formed a fist. Above him, on the roof, he thought he heard the clatter of a stealthily moving creature. _Roche. _

No more hesitation. He rapped on the door three times and waited. Several moments passed, and then the door swung open. Madeleine, on the other side, twitched at the sight of the inspector on the threshold.

"_Excusez-moi?" _he asked, his tone polite but rather harried. "What do you require, Inspector?"

He was not in the habit of lying, and yet the words slipped from his tongue as easily as water. "_Monsieur, _there is something I believe you must see."

_The rest is up to her._

* * *

Roche was in the office almost before Madeleine was out of it.

As soon as Javert had him at the head of the stairs, she dropped from the roof and stole inside the room. _Desk drawer, _she thought, remembering Javert's instructions. It was a Spartan room with a crucifix on the far wall and a desk jammed up in a corner. Hastily, she crossed over to the desk and almost immediately encountered a problem. _Merde_. _How many desk drawers must this man have?_

She yanked open the first one, and twitched as she took in the hundreds of letters piled within. Her nostrils flared and she slammed the drawer shut. _Surely Javert does not mean one of _those _letters, _she thought. _I'm not taking all of those._

The next drawer would not open. Harried, she glanced up. The door was slightly ajar, but it seemed as though there were no one waiting outside. _I have time, _c'est ça, _I have time. _

Her palms had begun to sweat. Grimacing, she shoved Madeleine's chair to the side. Hopefully he was not an observant man.

The next drawer had a rosary, and nothing more. She slammed it shut, saving only a moment to nod at the tiny pictures on the beads. _Pardon_. _I know I am a sinner. Forgive me._

It was in the last drawer that she discovered a letter that seemed to fit Javert's description. The envelope was open and it had clearly already been read. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her pocket.

Footsteps on the stairs. _Damn it, Javert, _she thought, and crouched behind the desk. _That was nowhere near enough time. _

Voices. She crouched behind the desk, eyes wide with… was it fear? She was unused to feeling fear. _Perhaps this is my punishment, _she thought, _for being such a cocky brat. Maybe I deserve this. _There was no escape. Madeleine would certainly find her. What he would do with her remained to be seen.

She heard the door creak open. "I wonder where she could have gone," Madeleine was saying. That caught Roche's attention. _I hope you didn't use me as an excuse, Javert, _she thought darkly, peering over the edge of the desk. _That would seriously irritate me._

She was lucky. Madeleine was facing away from her. Javert, however, was not. Their eyes met. She did not want to admit it, but if he did not help her now, it would be over. She gave one long, slow blink, ignoring the pain from her eyebrow. _Help me, Inspector, _she thought, and hoped the message was being conveyed in her troubled eyes. _Please help me._

Javert cleared his throat. "Forgive me, _Monsieur le Maire," _he said. "Perhaps we might look out from the top of the stairs. We will be able to see the whole square."

Roche did not breathe. Her fingers twitched against the wood of the desk, and her heart trembled in her breast.

Distractedly, Madeleine nodded, and Roche closed her eyes gratefully. "One more time," said the mayor, sounding as though he were trying to humor the inspector. They moved towards the door, and Roche slipped out from behind the desk. Her palms were sticky now, and she dried them clumsily on her shawl. _Do not turn around, _she begged. _Please. Do not turn around._

They reached the end of the stairs, and Javert began pointing at the ground and explaining something in a rushed tone that she did not have time for. Panting, she slid along the wall, freezing when she reached the bottom step. Madeleine was starting to turn… Her heart was galloping, and she hurled herself around the corner of the factory.

Her stamina left her and she collapsed in a bewildered heap on the cobblestones, waiting for the mayor to find her. When she did not hear shouting or the pounding of feet, she exhaled in relief and drew her knees to her chin. _I made it, _she thought, disbelieving. _I don't know how. But I did make it._

"Ahhh," she moaned, putting her head in her hands. Her whole body ached from the stress of the thing, and her cuts from the night previous were bothering her more than she allowed herself to worry about. Every breath made the skin at her ribs stretch painfully. Her ankle throbbed, her head was pounding, and her collarbone… She didn't feel anything of _that _but a strange, dull pressure. _Please. Not an infection. This is not the time for an infection._

She rubbed her fingers through her hair and pressed up against the factory wall. _I am so, so tired._

There was the sound of a throat being cleared. She pulled her hands away from her head and looked up at the figure blocking the sunlight, standing over her. "Inspector," she said, reaching into her pocket for the letter. She pulled it out and felt its negligible weight in the palm of her hand. Shakily, she got to her feet. The little pains had increased into a cacophony of agony, but he was right—she'd asked for this.

A half-buried instinct warned her to downplay the hurt. She forced herself to stand upright, and extended her injured arm to hand him the letter. "I certainly hope this has some sort of evidence in it," she commented. "That was a rather stressful endeavor."

Javert had practically torn open the envelope and was now scanning it rapidly. As she watched, his expression darkened. She wanted to ask him what it was, but she held her tongue.

"It is a notice of death," he said finally. His tone was extremely pensive. "Bishop Myriel has gone into God's embrace."

The name seemed to mean something to him. Moreover, it seemed as though the letter were acceptable evidence, for he folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket. She was curious; she had never heard of a Bishop Myriel and did not know how it pertained to Madeleine. There were questions she had for the inspector, for Madeleine too, now that she thought about it. But she could not ask those questions now. Everything hurt.

"I'm going home," she said quietly. Javert had nothing to say to this; she moved to walk by him. As she did so, a thought stopped her. "How did you get Madeleine to leave the office?"

Javert turned to glance at her. "I told him there was an injured girl begging to see him. It seems as though it were a believable tale."

She groaned, closing her eyes. "I wish you wouldn't speak about me," she said. "The less other people know of my existence, the better."

Javert frowned. "That is a… strange desire. If you are hiding something from me…"

She rolled her eyes, looking away. "I am hiding _everything _from you," she said. "You know nothing about me, sir. But _non, _I'm not hiding anything illegal. I assume this is what you are afraid of."

Javert continued to look at her. "If it pleases you, I will not mention you to others," he said at last. "I was not planning on doing so, but take this as an assurance, if you will."

"I will." The conversation felt over. "_Au revoir, _Inspector," she said. "Have a pleasant evening."

"_Au revoir." _She had a feeling he was looking at her as she walked to the end of the street and stepped into the burnished gold of the sunlit square. For a moment, she was seized by the intense desire to look behind her, to look at him looking at her. She imagined the way the sun would turn her hair coppery.

_I'm going soft, _she thought to herself, and smiled. _Merde_.

She did not look back.

* * *

_**Translations:**_

_Excusez-moi- _ excuse me

_C'est ça-_ that is right


	4. Renconters

Roche shifted uneasily in the bed, kicking her tangled sheets to the floor. With a sigh, Roche rolled onto her side, and winced slightly as her ribs pressed up against the fabric.

She had not visited Fantine. She'd meant to, but she hadn't. Her stomach growled furiously and she closed her eyes. _I need to go now, _she told herself, wishing that it would be possible to sleep for a few more hours. The pain in her gut would only get worse, though.

Reluctantly, she sat up. She had on a large man's shirt, starched and collared. It was mostly unbuttoned, but she'd done up one or two in case there was an emergency. If she did have to evacuate, she'd be showing far too much skin to be safe, but it would be better than baring everything.

She went through the motions mechanically. _Clothes on. Tidy up. Downstairs for water. There, ready to go. _

Sunlight danced on her skin as she stepped onto the street. Normally she would be tailing Madeleine at this hour, but she'd done enough with the letter business yesterday. _Besides, _she thought, with a grin, _today is Sunday. I'm not supposed to work, yes?_

Only Roche would find this amusing. She had never been to church and never planned on attending. During that crucial time in her childhood when she was meant to be instilled with a healthy fear of God, she was slumming in the alleys, fighting for bread with the rats. If it weren't for Fantine…

Well. In any event, Roche cared very little for spirituality. But, from what she knew of him, Javert cared very much. _He'll be at Mass, _she thought, and bit her lip. There was only one church in Montreuil-sur-Mer. After she saw Fantine, she would go to him.

With each step, her ankle throbbed, and that filled her with a righteous anger. She wanted to be angry with Fantine, oh, how she wanted it. _But I am Fantine's dog, _she reminded herself. _I can never truly be angry at her. Never. _

She had to settle with being angry at the world instead. It was strange for one so young to be so furious with the world, but it had not been particularly giving of late. _The only good thing that's happened recently is… well, Javert. And he hates me._

_ No, _she amended. _He doesn't hate me. I'm sure he finds me annoying, though. _Usually, it was a thought that would make her amused, but for some reason she didn't like the idea. Perhaps it was that the morning was painfully beautiful, although biting. Perhaps she simply couldn't bear the thought of being disliked on a morning like this.

She stopped dead. _Why am I thinking like this? _She was frustrated. _I really _am _getting softer, _she realized, with a feeling of dread at the pit of her stomach. _Merde. That is not good._

She resumed walking, although now her expression was murderous. _Maybe I am not getting softer, _she thought, in an attempt to reassure herself. _Perhaps it is just that I do not want my employer to dislike me. That is not so very strange._

It was more manageable than her whole demeanor changing, anyway.

Her misadventure with Luc had her avoiding the docks on the way to Fantine's. The sun had managed to mostly fix her mood; she was still unhappy, but now she was quite warm for a winter day. By the time she stepped onto Fantine's block, the rigidity that had her marching stiffly had gone. She was as relaxed as it was possible for her to be.

This time she'd remembered the spare key. She knocked to make sure, but Fantine did not answer the door. _As I thought, _thought Roche. _She's tired. _Thinking about _why _Fantine was tired would serve no purpose, but it _would _ruin Roche's mood. She concentrated very hard on opening the door, and nothing more. Her hands shook.

As always, Fantine's house was ridiculously hot. _That's a good thing, _Roche reminded herself, as she stripped off her cloak and locked the door behind her. _It's winter now. Having a warm place to sleep is a blessing. _There were plenty of people who didn't have nearly as much.

She wanted to go into Fantine's room, but didn't. _Fantine needs to sleep, _she told herself, and went into the kitchen instead. It was less of a kitchen and more of a wood stove jammed in the corner, but it would do.

She had to venture all the way to the landlady's flat to get some water from the pump. She returned feeling lightheaded and proud of herself, mainly because she'd braved Madame Favre's ire without losing her temper. The water went over the stove. Roche was pleased to see that Fantine had already bought another loaf of bread; it would go well with the soup.

It was only once she'd heated the water that she realized she didn't know how to make soup. The water bubbled in the little pot, and she regarded it warily. "Stay still until I return," she ordered, and then shook her head at her own folly.

She felt as though she'd wasted the little money they had when she returned with the ingredients she deemed necessary. _But she can reuse them, _Roche thought. _She'll just have to get used to soup, that's all. I'll eat it as well._

She dumped some of the herbs and vegetables into the water and mashed at everything with a wooden spoon she'd found on the counter. The resulting watery mess was not quite what she'd pictured when she'd undertaken the endeavor. She grimaced and considered putting a finger in the water to taste it. _I don't think I want to, _she realized.

She heard the sound of shuffling feet. Reluctantly, she turned to look behind her. Fantine stood behind her, leaning against the wall. She did not seem particularly surprised to see Roche in her house. She seemed more surprised by the mess on the counter.

"_Mon dieu," _said Fantine. "What are you doing?"

Roche felt the disappointment like a blow to the stomach. "I've failed," she said dismally, hanging her head. "I am a failure."

Warily, Fantine approached the stove. "Soup," she realized. "You were making soup?"

"I was trying," affirmed Roche, who couldn't even look at the counter anymore for her embarrassment. She slapped her palm over her eyes. _Abrutie. I am an _abrutie finie.

She glanced up to see Fantine cautiously stirring the mess with a spoon. Their eyes met and Fantine managed to smile. "Don't worry, Roche," she said reassuringly. "It will be alright. It's only soup."

"Exactly," said Roche, drifting closer to her friend. "It's only soup. It shouldn't cause so many problems for me."

Fantine glanced up with the barest hint of a smile. "You were never a domestic creature, were you?"

"_Non," _Roche agreed. "I never was."

Fantine turned back to the soup. "Sit down," she said, nodding towards the rickety wooden table. Roche slouched to the table and collapsed in the chair, using her hair to hide herself. _I tried to make Fantine's life easier, and look what I did. Why do I always ruin the things I try to do?_

She jumped as a bowl was set down before her. The soup nearly sloshed over the sides but remained in its place. Slowly, Roche picked up a spoon. By the time Fantine was sitting, she'd already had a taste. It was watery, salty, and foul. But she would eat it, because there was nothing else.

"I'm so sorry," she said dully, as the both of them swallowed to the best of their ability. "This is the worst thing I've ever tasted."

Fantine looked up. There were bags under her eyes and she looked hollow. "It's better than nothing, Roche." Her tone was vaguely disapproving. The message behind it was clear. _Shut up and eat the soup._

And they both managed to suffer through it. At this point, both of them ate only so they would not collapse. Pleasure had nothing to do with it. So meals were not pleasant, and vaguely unpleasant at times. But they would survive. They would have to survive.

The only sound for a while was the creak of Roche shifting idly in her chair. Back and forth, back and forth, she swung her legs and kept her torso pressed against the table. There was much she wanted to say, but she felt that Fantine had a lot to say, too.

The _grisette _spoke first. "Luc said that a crazy girl attacked him." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Roche."

Roche sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I don't know why you picked him," she mumbled defensively. "There are better people out there. _I'd _do a better job."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," said Fantine. The words reminded Roche of Javert, and she shivered. The comparison was just so disturbing, on so many different levels.

"You don't," Roche agreed. "I don't want any explanations, anyway. I know why you do it." She bit her lip. "I just wish you didn't have to."

Fantine's gaze softened. "I know, Roche. I don't like it either, you know." Her expression folded like paper, and her eyes sparkled like jewels. "I could never, _never _enjoy it," she whispered. "Not in a million years."

Roche felt sick, and it wasn't from the soup. "God, Fantine," she murmured, and snatched her friend's hand from across the table. She held onto it like an anchor, and stroked it with her thumb. The skin was rough and beautiful. "At the end of the month, you won't need to do this," she said. "I'll have money then. We can… we can fetch Cosette. She can live with you—or me, if you want." It was a bold plan, but Fantine needed something to hope for. "We can make it work."

Hastily, Fantine pulled her hand away and swiped at the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "Yes," she said, nodding hastily. "A good plan."

It wasn't, but neither of them would be the one to say it.

The food felt like lead in Roche's stomach. "You need to go back to bed," she said briskly, standing up. "You look… thin, Fantine. Like a gust of wind might blow you over."

Fantine nodded at this, and looked troubled. "You don't look well yourself," she said. "Luc hurt you, didn't he?"

Roche grinned suddenly. "_Oui," _she said. "But I was not so very kind to him, either."

Fantine sighed. "No more fighting," she said, and frowned. "Especially not with my employer. You might have lost me my job."

Roche froze. "That… that was not something I thought about…" she realized, stunned. "I…"

Fantine waved the apology away. "I know," she said. "But you cannot do it again." Her harsh expression turned soft. "I have enough to worry about without worrying about you," she whispered.

"Oh, Fantine…" Roche took a step forward. "You never have to worry about me." She took another step and her head thudded into Fantine's chest. Automatically, Fantine wrapped one arm around her. It was a short, quiet embrace. Roche stayed very still, with her eyes closed. _Ah, _mon amie. _Please don't worry. _She didn't speak the thought, although she wanted to.

When they separated, Roche stood for a moment before resolving herself to her next adventure. "I must go," she admitted. "As much as I would love to ignore it, duty calls."

Fantine only nodded. "Take care of yourself," she said, and turned to the bowls to wash up.

Roche slipped out of the house as quickly and quietly as she'd entered it. She thought about getting to the church by way of the docks, just to annoy Luc, but decided against it once again. _I will stay away from there, _she thought. _Obviously I cannot allow there to be any risk of Fantine losing another job. That simply cannot happen._

The church was in the nicer part of town. It was somewhat close to Madeleine's factory, and well-attended by those of greater means. The poor did not go to church. What little time they had they spent begging. Ordinarily Roche would be willing to give some of them a sou, but she could no longer spend money on anything but absolute necessities.

Mass had just ended as Roche arrived on the street. The large wooden doors were opening, and a flood of well-dressed individuals came marching out, talking in little clumps. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and searched.

It did not take long to find him. Out of all the people, he was the only one in uniform—besides, he stuck out plainly, like a hawk amidst a crowd of chattering parrots. He seemed to have some destination in mind, as he sliced through the crowd like a knife through soft butter. She detached herself from the wall and came to join him.

He only noticed her when she was walking beside him. She had a tiny smile on her face. Her ability to creep up on him pleased her unduly. Javert did not look nearly as pleased.

"_Bonjour," _he said, and then gave her a look. "There. Was that so hard?"

She blinked. "I've no idea what you mean, _monsieur."_

He frowned. "There's no need for you to play at innocence. We both know what I'm talking about."

She _did _know what he meant, and sighed. "I'll take note of your concern. But you can't expect me to reconfigure my preferred method of greeting. It is not so easy to change a person."

To her surprise, he nodded at that. "I am well aware that most people do not possess the capacity to change," he admitted. "But it would not hurt you to try." His eyes narrowed further. "Nor would it hurt you to attend Mass," he said darkly. "It is not fitting to wait outside during the service."

"It's a good thing I wasn't waiting, then," she said. "I apologize, but I am far too busy for church."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your talk borders on blasphemy. There is no one who does not have time for God."

She did not like where the conversation was going. The two of them had automatically wandered to the bridge where they'd had their last conversation, and she drew away from him and leaped onto the little wall that prevented her from plunging into the water. Balancing on the heels of her boots, she rested her elbows on her knees and hunched over like a gargoyle. "Then I blaspheme," she said simply. "I cannot believe that you find that surprising."

He gave her a look. "You seem intent upon surprising me," was all he said.

For some reason, the comment gave her pause. _It makes us sound like we are friends, like we've known each other for a long time. And neither of those things is true. _

As the laws of conversation would have it, it was her turn to say something. "I've discovered nothing more about Madeleine since our last… endeavor," she said. "I apologize. I thought a morning's rest was in order."

Javert crossed his arms over his chest. "There is no time for resting," he said, but his countenance was not as harsh as it usually was. "Nevertheless… I suppose that you'd earned it." His tone was grudging.

She considered saying something mordacious and decided against it. "I thought the same," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I expect to have a conversation with Madeleine this afternoon, if everything goes well. I expect it will be quite illuminating."

"You'd think so," said Javert. "If Mayor Madeleine is who I think he is, you won't get anything out of him like that. He is very… evasive."

She shrugged. "The nature of my work has me involved with evasive individuals all the time. I've learned how to deal with them."

Javert looked away, so that he was staring at the green-ish water below. "How did you come up with such an idea, to do what you do?" he asked softly, tracking the movement of the little waves. "I have never heard of anything like it before."

She looked at him. He had gotten a little closer to her wall, and was now close enough to touch, if she would only reach out. She'd graze his lapel with her fingertips perhaps, or tap his epaulette with her knuckles.

She shook her head to clear it. "It was an obvious choice," she said, looking away from the man beside her. She was suddenly extremely uncomfortable, and she didn't know why. It had never felt like this with her previous clients. "I already enjoyed keeping an eye on the going-ons here. The more I needed money, the more I realized that I could charge for something I did anyway." She grinned. "I feel as though that is the way most people come up with groundbreaking business ideas."

After a moment of silence, she turned so that she was facing him, straddling the little wall. One leg dangled over the water, and she liked the idea that if she tipped too hard in either direction, she would fall. "Why do you care about the Mayor's past?" she asked, leaning forward. Her cloak, caught in the throes of the wind, flapped in the air before cleaving to her right leg and joining it over the water. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that her shirt was not buttoned all the way, and it was a man's shirt, besides.

Javert noticed too, and looked away pointedly. "Do you wear men's clothing for fun?" he asked harshly, "or were you misguided into believing that it is the fashion of the era?"

Weirdly, she was hurt. She grabbed her cloak and spread it about herself, a shield. "I don't see why it matters to _you," _she said stiffly, trying to resist the urge to bare her teeth at him.

To her surprise, Javert looked somewhat morose. He blinked slowly, and sighed. "I apologize if I have offended you," he said. "It is just that I consider it highly improper for a young woman to be going about in such garments."

She swung her left leg over the water. Now there was nothing but her sense of balance that kept her from plunging into the depths below. Moody, she hunched over again and glared into the distance.

After an awkward pause, Javert cleared his throat. "You cannot expect an apology for that opinion. I am certainly not the only one to have it."

Slowly, she tipped her head back to look at him. "Can you really not think of why I might want to wear loose clothing?" she asked, giving him a deadpan glare. "Did you fail to notice me crawling onto Madeleine's roof yesterday? If I had been wearing a dress, I would have fallen." Now she had begun to rant, and she couldn't stop herself. "Dresses are so impractical," she exclaimed darkly, thumping the bricks next to her as though they were her podium. "If it were up to _me…"_

Javert had the good sense to stop her. "But it is not up to you," he said, with a warning look when she opened her mouth to continue. "I will admit that your clothing makes sense given your situation," he continued. "You will hear nothing more on the subject from me."

After a few moments, she nodded. "I will accept your apology," she said, and smiled. "Before you protest, I am aware that it was not really an apology," she continued, holding up a hand. "That is quite alright. It's the thought that counts, _monsieur…"_

Javert sighed heavily. "I understand that you enjoy verbal battles," he said, "but if we could refrain from having them during our conversations, I would be most obliged."

"It takes two to battle," she said innocently. "Now, will you answer my question, or shall I sit here and rot while I wait?"

Javert seemed confused. "_Pardon. _I do not remember a question."

She sighed. "Yes, it seems we got rather off-topic. I asked you why you cared so much about Madeleine's past. Surely he could not have done something awful, and yet it seems that you think so."

Javert's expression was brooding. "I do think so," he said, and put his hands on the wall, leaning against it. They were a mere hands-breadth apart. He turned to look at her, and his eyes were cold and blue. "He is a criminal," he said, sounding bitter. "His name is Jean Valjean."

"Jean Valjean," she repeated, enjoying the symmetry of the name. "What did he do?"

"He stole a loaf of bread," said Javert darkly, turning back to the water. "After numerous escape attempts, he was sentenced to 19 years of hard labor in Toulon. He was released eight years ago, and I did not expect to hear of him again." He smiled bitterly. "He broke parole, and vanished. And I did not see hide or hair of him, until a week ago on my arrival." He nodded once. "That man is Valjean. I know it."

Roche looked at him, a mildly horrified expression on her face. "Were you two old enemies, perhaps?"

He seemed alarmed. "_Pardon? _No, we were not enemies."

"Did he wrong you?"

"Not to my knowledge. I suppose he did wrong me, by breaking parole. He wronged all of France. He wronged the law_."_

She ignored Javert's impassioned speech. "And yet you are so determined to have him back in prison," she mused, looking at the water. "And for what? Breaking parole…" She let the words hang in the air, soft and beautifully judgmental.

He snorted and turned away from her. "I would not expect you to understand," he said coldly. "You have not seen what I have seen. If you had been there, you would know." He clenched the banister so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "A man such as Valjean… he cannot change. If he was a criminal once, he will always be a criminal."

She glanced at him sideways. _All he did was steal a loaf of bread… _she thought, but did not say it. "It is not so very hard to earn your enmity, I see."

He glowered. "_Non, _it is not. Every criminal that walks the streets has earned it."

_You are a harsh man, _she wanted to say, and, again, found that she couldn't speak. _Odd. I never have difficulties in speaking my mind._

Instead, she put her head in her hands. "I suppose the Bishop was an old friend of Valjean's, then?" she asked, and was not surprised when he nodded. "Well. I understand what I am looking for, now. That will make this entire operation much easier."

He nodded at her. "My time is spent," he said shortly. "I will be expected at the station."

She turned to look at him, mildly surprised. "I didn't expect you to work on Sunday."

"It is a shortened day," he told her. "Crime does not magically disappear on account of it being Sunday. Neither can I."

Slowly, she nodded. "That makes a lot of sense," she agreed, lacing her fingers into a little platform to rest her chin on. "You are very dedicated to your job, yes?"

"The law is the only thing that matters to me," Javert agreed. He said it as though it were a simple, obvious statement. It made her sad.

"Then I shouldn't detain you," she said, and smiled. It was a rare smile. There was no bitterness or sarcasm written all over it. There was no hatred or cockiness. It was just a smile, no strings attached. "Go back to your law, Inspector. And I will go back to my investigation."

"Very well," said Javert. He took a step back and moved as if to leave. Then he turned around and bowed low. "Shall we meet here again next Sunday?"

Her smile could hold out no longer, and twisted into a sarcastic smirk. "We shall," she said, "although I have the distinct impression that we will meet again before that. It seems as though we usually do."

"It does seem that way," Javert agreed, giving her a suspicious look. "Have you been following me?"

She shook her head. "No, actually. It is coincidence, or fate, if you prefer."

Javert, to her surprise, flinched. "There is no such thing as fate. It is the hand of God that determines the going-ons in our lives."

"The hand of God, then." She slipped off the wall. "I will see you again next Sunday, _monsieur. _Have a pleasant day."

"You as well." He nodded, turned briskly, and marched off the bridge in the direction of the station. Roche stood for a moment and watched him go. Then she tucked another strand of hair behind her ears and made for Madeleine's factory.

The factory was just as she'd left it. If she squinted at the stairs, she could even see a darker patch that might have been the blood from her eyebrow. That particular cut had been healing nicely, and was now little more than a crusted red line. It was her shoulder she was worried about. The skin was shiny and red, and practically screamed _infection. _And yet, it had not begun to ache, or ooze, or anything of the kind. For now, she was safe.

She stood, looking up at the stairs. Mayor Madeleine was inside his office, no doubt—he always was at this hour. It was near the time he took a break for lunch, however. It was a good opportunity that she did not plan on wasting.

A quarter of an hour passed before the door to Madeleine's office swung open. Roche, who had begun to daydream about the pain au chocolat Javert had bought her those days ago, blinked and pushed herself away from the wall. She had not bothered to disguise herself and was not planning on tearing open her cut again. This interaction with Madeleine would have to be genuine. _That is good, then, _she thought to herself. _I have much to discuss with him._

Madeleine walked down the stairs briskly and made for the opposite street. Hurriedly, Roche stepped out of the shadows and padded after him. She made no attempt to conceal herself, and it was mere moments before they were shoulder-to-shoulder.

He glanced at her sideways and nodded pleasantly. "Good day."

"_Monsieur _Madeleine," she said, as a response. "It seems that you missed me yesterday."

His eyes widened. "You…" he said, slowly. "You were not the girl Javert was telling me about?"

She was still irritated that Javert hadn't been able to come up with a better excuse, but perhaps it would work in her favor. "I was the girl," she said resignedly, brushing her hair away from her forehead to better exhibit the cut. "Unfortunately, once the policeman arrived I was no longer so intent upon seeing you. I don't like him."

"I am not so sure you should be telling me this," said Madeleine carefully. _Ah, so he is a careful man. _Merde. _The careful ones are difficult._

"_Non, _do not worry," she said. "I dislike him as a _person, _not because he is an officer of the law. He is extremely unpleasant."

Madeleine looked at her for a moment. "Forgive me," he said. "I do not know your name. Are you a resident of this town?"

"I am," she said. "I am called Roche. It is pleasant to meet you officially, sir."

"Indeed," he agreed, sounding distracted. "Now, if you don't mind. What was so important about seeing me yesterday? Javert said you were injured."

"I was," she agreed, nodding gravely and tapping her cut as proof. "I was wondering if you had some sort of material for bandages. I cannot afford these kinds of things, you see."

Madeleine looked horrified. "Are you… do you have a home?" he asked.

She nodded. "I was far from home; there was no way to get back in time. But I had to manage, once Javert chased me away." It was odd talking about the policeman behind his back, even if all the words she were spouting were complete and utter lies.

Despite himself, Madeleine looked intrigued. "Javert seemed quite frantic to find you," he said. "I would not expect him to want to find someone he did not like."

"He has only been here for a week, sir," said Roche. "How would you know what to expect of him?"

Madeline blinked, looking ruffled. "Well. I suppose you are right. I know nothing of him." His expression had not changed, but she noted a kind of wariness in his eyes. "Nothing at all."

Confronting him outright would not get her the results she desired. She hated to admit it, but Javert was right. Madeleine was extremely cautious. No doubt he had spent a long time avoiding falling into his own verbal trap, if he was truly this _Valjean _individual.

They were close to the café now. She had no money, and she hoped that he would not attempt to get rid of her by entering the shop. _I have to act fast, now, _she thought, and rubbed at her eyes. "Now that I am here, and you are here," she said, "I have to ask you something, _monsieur. _If that is alright."

Madeleine smiled at her. "What harm is there in asking a question, _mademoiselle?"_

She smiled back, trying to make it seem real. "In that case, I will ask. But first, let me give you a bit of a story, so my question makes more sense." She had worked out the story in her head, and it seemed plausible given what she'd already told him. "I was a friend of Inspector Lafayette's, and when he was gone I suppose I was annoyed at his replacement. I went to see this Inspector Javert, and found him to be quite the unpleasant man. He wouldn't stop asking me questions… questions about you." A flicker of alarm flashed across Madeleine's face, and she had to resist the urge to smirk. _Got you._

"He seems to think…" she lowered her voice and glanced about. "He seems to think you are some sort of _criminal. _I know this is not true, but it offended me that he thought such. I decided to come and see you, to tell you about it. On the way I was injured in an accident with the butcher, and my visit was suddenly motivated by the desire to quell the bleeding." She shrugged one shoulder. "But Javert was there, and I could not tell you these things with him watching us." She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"My question is thus: what were you doing before you came to Montreuil-sur-Mer? I would like to have something to tell the Inspector, if he questions me again."

Madeleine swallowed. "You have heard that I prefer to keep my past to myself, I suppose?"

She nodded. "That is very understandable. If you have things in your past that you would like to remain undisclosed, I am perfectly happy with that. But you must see that having nothing to say would look rather suspicious."

Madeleine sighed. "Then I must look suspicious," he whispered, closing his eyes. "You must believe me when I say that Javert's suspicious are ill-founded. I am _not _who he thinks I am."

"Who does he think you are?"

Madeleine opened his mouth to answer and then blinked, going rigid. "No one in particular," he said warily. "A criminal, I mean. That is what you said, is it not? That he believed I was a criminal?"

She was disappointed that he had not fallen into the trap. "Yes, it seems that is what he believes." They were on the block of the café now. "So, you have nothing to say?"

"I am afraid not," said Madeleine. "I apologize that the inspector is giving you trouble. I shall order him to refrain from questioning you, if it bothers you."

She shook her head. "_Non, _I doubt I will be seeing him again. I think I will avoid him from now on."

Madeleine nodded. "I see," he said. "But if you are ever bothered again, please come and see me." They had arrived at the café now, and it was clear to both parties that Roche was not going to go in. "I must thank you for warning me. I am sure that between the two of us, we can convince Javert of my innocence." He smiled at her. He had a nice, friendly smile. Roche had not seen such a genuine smile in a long time. She felt starved for any sort of human happiness. She did not work well with happy people, it seemed.

She smiled back, and this time her smile was real. It was not because she liked Madeleine (she didn't.) But there was something about the smile that was difficult to ignore.

She nodded at him and the smile finally slipped away. "Have a pleasant day, _Monsieur le Maire," _she said.

"I hope to see you again, Roche," he replied, and went into the shop.

It was only once she was several blocks away that she realized that he'd called her by her name. _Javert never does that, _she thought, frowning to herself. _Because we are not friends. _She was not friends with the Mayor, either, but he seemed to be a kind man, nothing at all like Javert. _But he allowed Fantine to be fired, _she reminded herself, and an intense dislike welled up within her. _He might seem like a good person, but clearly he is not. _

She had not learned much from this. But she had confirmed that Madeleine had _something _in his past he would not share. Combined with all the evidence that Javert seemed to have collected, it looked as though it might be enough. Javert's word alone would probably suffice in a court of law, but the letter and Madeleine's non-past would be enough to seal the man's fate.

But even as she thought it, she frowned and shook her head. _Non, it is not enough. Not for me. _ She was not interested in condemning the man without solid proof. While it would feel good to put the bastard that ruined Fantine's life behind bars, it would be slightly overkill to sentence him to life in a prison such as Toulon. She was not so sure if she could live with herself if she allowed that to happen.

_Just… all I need is a little more proof. One more thing and I will tell Javert that there is no doubt. Just one more._

She tipped her head back and looked at the sky. It was stormy and grey, a somber coloring. She allowed herself a rueful grin. It seemed as though she was making a lot of those, lately.

_What the hell am I doing with my life? _she thought, and was not at all surprised when it occurred to her that she had no idea.

* * *

**_Translations:_**

_Abrutie finie- _complete idiot


	5. Rivière

Javert had often wondered why he was so attracted to trouble. He often found himself at the scene of the crime before he was aware that a crime had occurred at all. On this night, it was almost as if he could smell the unrest in the salty sea air. He stood by the steps that led to the docks, hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, he was tempted to ignore the impulse to march down the stairs. After all, it was nothing but an errant desire.

Seconds later, the shouting rent the air. He was almost disappointed that he'd been right.

He marched down the steps, unhurried. The shouting was coming from the docks, and there would be no harm in hesitating. The situation was probably nothing serious, and the scum from the gutter did not deserve anything more.

It was a harsh thought, but it had proved itself true, over the years.

A knot of people had formed in front of one of the boats. On one side was a black-haired, bourgeois gentleman, with a sneer on his lips and his legs crossed firmly. He wobbled, clearly in pain. On the other side was a woman he recognized. The name swum from the recesses of his memory. _Elise._

She lunged towards the gentleman, who flinched away. Javert sighed. It was an easy situation to asses. _The man said something callous about her profession, and she reacted with violence. All of these prostitutes are far too volatile._

The last time he had been here, it was Roche who had been volatile. _But she never told me what she was fighting for, _he reminded himself. _I cannot pass judgment if she will not tell me her reasoning. _It had been nearly six days since he had last seen the troublesome child, and on Sunday he would once again meet her on the bridge. He couldn't say he was looking forward to it.

He strode through the crowd and stood in front of them, chest thrust outwards in confidence. "What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed, gesturing to the crowd. "Explain. Do not test my patience."

The gentleman stepped forward. "I'll say," he said, his lip quivering. "This _prostitute _saw fit to _kick _me…" He glanced about and lowered his voice. "Right in the _bitte. _If you'll excuse me."

Javert fought against rolling his eyes, and lost the battle. "I do not care to hear your explanations…" he began, turning towards the woman, and she punched him across the face.

It was a surprise. For a moment he stood perfectly still, nostrils flared, pain gathering in his jaw. While he was frozen, Elise shouldered past him and darted away. It was the sight of moving prey that roused him from his shock. "Woman!" he shouted, shoving a prostitute out of the way. Elise was lithe and moved quickly, but he was a trained police officer. He would win this race.

He lost sight of her for several moments as he charged up the steps, but the slap of her impractical shoes on the cobblestones gave her away. "Woman!" Javert shouted, again. "If you continue to evade me it will be bad for you!" She gave no reply, but she did turn for a second to look at him. Her eyes were eerie and luminous in the dark.

His sword was sheathed, but his hand rested on the pommel. He had experience with characters like this. She was frightened and desperate to avoid capture. It might be that she would attack, and then… If she dared to resist arrest, he would be forced to strike with deadly efficiency. He did not particularly want to kill Elise (indeed, he would feel shame for killing a woman) but she was a danger to the good citizens of Montreuil-sur-Mer, and his job was to take care of danger.

He realized that he recognized the path they were taking. Elise had led him towards Mayor Madeleine's factory, and was now running down the alley that led to the bridge. _Perhaps, _he thought, _she thinks that the smell will drive me away. _He sneered. _She knows nothing of me, if she would think that._

Elise turned a corner and disappeared from view. He sped up and blinked tears out of his eyes at the sudden onslaught of bad scents coming from the water below. He had reached the bridge, and his quarry was nowhere in sight.

_There. _Crouched at the far end of the bridge was a slight figure, cloaked and shielded. And he stopped dead, because Elise had not been wearing a cloak. The figure looking at the water turned to look at him instead, and he swallowed harshly. _This is Roche's place, _he remembered. _She must come here often. Now it will seem as if _I _am spying on _her. _And that is most untrue._

He began to say her name, but she beat him to it. "Inspector?" said Roche, getting to her feet. She swayed on the bridge for a moment, and was silhouetted by the light displayed from the moon. She looked tall and spectral, a reaper calmly regarding her prey.

She began to walk towards him along the edge of the brick railing, seemingly unruffled by his unkempt appearance. "What did she do?" she asked.

He paused for a moment to collect himself, and found that he could not. "What?"

"Elise," said Roche, as though it was obvious. "She's hiding behind this wall, you know." She gave the wall a little kick with her boot to emphasize the fact. "I'm not sure where. I saw her duck down. In any event, she's much too close to us to get away." Javert was not pleased by the easy way Roche said "us," but this was no time to bring that up. "Don't worry," the girl continued, sitting down on the wall a pace or two away from him. "Eventually, she'll have to reveal herself. When she gets up to run, you'll have her."

"Can't she _hear _us?" Javert exclaimed, giving Roche a look.

The girl nodded. "Of course she can," she exclaimed. "What of it? She can't get away; there's no possible way out of this situation for her. As I said." At that, she gave him the deadpan glare it seemed she reserved for him. And then, quite suddenly, her expression warped into smug satisfaction, and then sudden horror. "Ahh!" she exclaimed, jerking to her feet.

Despite her cry, he was too slow. He felt hands pressed up against his back, and then he'd lost his balance. He managed to turn his head, and he saw Elise, eyes wide with horror. She was shaking her head, perhaps regretting the choice she'd made to get out of her hopeless situation—but he had no time to look at her, because he had struck the banister and was keeling over, twisting, losing his place…

It was not a particularly tall bridge. Indeed, the water was almost directly below, and it was sluggish to boot. But as Javert toppled over the banister and plunged towards the shimmering ribbon of a river, all he could think about were his swimming skills, or lack thereof.

He hit the water then, and stopped thinking at all.

* * *

Elise stood frozen for a moment, and then she turned and darted away.

Roche hardly spared her a glance. Apprehending Elise was not her priority, although surely it was now Javert's. Attempting to murder a police officer was no doubt one of the worst crimes the girl might have committed. _Stupid chit_, Roche thought, stripping off her cloak. The night air struck her like a poker between the ribs, but she threw the cloak on the ground and did not move to pick it up. _She's in trouble now._

It seemed, however, that Javert was in worse trouble. He had splashed for several minutes and now he'd disappeared into the glassy water. Cursing, Roche tore open the buttons on her shirt, and thanked her lucky stars that she'd thought to wear her undershirt today. It was heinously revealing, but this was no time to be worrying about looks.

She kicked off her boots easily and hopped onto the guard rail. "Can't swim," she realized, and rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

This was the first time she'd jumped from a bridge. She extended her legs and found herself suspended over the water. For a single moment she caught sight of her reflection, tumbling down with a dark expression and hands outstretched. Then her palms slapped the water and she was enveloped in darkness.

Ice wrapped her chest in iron bands. She had misjudged how cold the river would be on a wintery evening. Her eyes had closed automatically, she forced them open. The river was eerie and green below the surface. In front of her was a waterlogged, unmoving mass. _Javert._

She paddled towards him. It was not the first time she'd gone swimming (although it _was _the first time she was attempting to rescue someone) and she moved through the water easily enough. She reached out and held him around the middle. He made no move to bat away her arms, and she was relieved as she kicked her legs.

His unmoving body was buoyant enough for her to support the weight of both of them. She had only begun to ache for a breath when they broke the surface of the water, scattering silver droplets in all directions. She gasped and clung to his sodden uniform for warmth. Javert was still warm, but had begun to cool rapidly. She snorted some water out of her nose and made for the bank.

Breathing above the surface was a nightmare. She had gotten used to the smell of the water when she was far above it, but at water level her stomach recoiled. She wanted to spew her meager dinner into the river, and gritted her teeth to avoid doing just that. _At least he's holding on, _she thought, as Javert's arms clutched at her. _This would be much worse if he wasn't._

When they made it to the bank, she rested her head against the shore and gasped. The smell no longer bothered her; the problem now was the fatigue in her bones. _The longer we stay in this river, _she thought, _the worse he'll get. And then I'll never get paid._

Funny. She had leapt in to save him, but only now did she think of _that._

She propped his arms and head against the bank and paddled behind him, heaving the rest of his body onto dry land. For a few moments, he was totally motionless, and she drifted in the water and prayed she was not too late.

Then he shuddered and coughed, water spewing from his partially-opened mouth. There was moisture on her cheeks as she held onto the bank with the little strength she had left. It was river water, but she imagined for a moment that she'd been crying tears of relief. _It would have made me seem more likeable, _she thought ruefully, as she crawled onto the cobblestones. _Not that it really matters whether or not he likes me._

Both of them were sprawled on the bank, covered in water. Roche moved first, rolling over onto her back to gaze at the stars. "_Merde," _she said, and turned to look at him. "Why would you not learn how to swim, Inspector?"

There was no reply. His eyes were closed and he shivered uncontrollably. She sat up, bones aching. "Inspector?" she asked, eyes widening. _Surely… Well, he _was _in the river much longer than I was._

She crawled towards him and shook him by the shoulder gently. "Inspector," she said. "Inspector Javert. Wake up."

He did not stir, and she felt like a foolish child. "_Javert," _she said, supporting her full weight on his broad shoulder. "Come on. We can't stay here all night, and I am quite sure that you're fine."

Nothing. The chill had begun to set in, and Roche's teeth chattered. He was not dead, but he was totally unresponsive, and that was almost as bad. "You know that I don't believe in God," she blurted. Perhaps she could wake him up if she could say something bad. It was worth a shot. "I really don't," she continued. "I don't believe in God, or heaven. _That's _why I don't go to Mass. Now you know."

He did not move, and she growled in frustration and kneaded her fingers into his skin. "If you don't wake up right now, so help me God, I will… I will only wear men's clothing for the rest of my life. _Unbuttoned." _A masterstroke, she thought. She breathed out in immense relief as he stirred slightly beneath her palms. She kneaded his shoulder harder, and leaned towards his ear. One more try. One more try, and if he did not wake up, she would be forced to abandon him here, and with him all hopes of ever saving Fantine.

Her wet hair brushed his cheek, and his eyelid twitched. She took it as a good omen and took a breath.

"If you don't awaken, I will remove all my clothing in front of Jean Valjean, and we'll see what happens."

His eyes snapped open, and they were startlingly blue. He looked at her and then his eyelids began to shut again. "_NON," _she growled, grabbing him by the collar and forcing him to sit up. "If you fall asleep again, _I will push you back into that river."_

He remained upright, dripping water onto the cobblestones. His eyes were half-open and unfocused. _He's awake, _she realized, _but he isn't truly conscious. _Busily, she got to her feet. _That doesn't matter. As long as I can get him moving, we will be alright._

"_Monsieur _Inspector," she said softly, and he glanced up at her. His expression was baleful and it was clear he was not thinking clearly. _At least he can function enough to react, _thought Roche, as she knelt by his side. She wrapped one arm around his waist and grabbed his other arm in her hand, draping it clumsily around her shoulders.

"We are going to stand now," she ordered. "Come, Inspector." She struggled to regain her footing, and after a moment he rose. It was clear he was injured, perhaps badly, because he leaned on her heavily.

"Alright," she panted, moving forward. He followed her, dripping water onto her clothing. Her bare feet slapped against the cobblestones, and she despaired when she remembered just how far away the hospital was. _Non, we'll make it. I must have faith._

Walking up the stairs to street-level was an excruciating challenge. Coaxing Javert proved to be the biggest problem, as he seemed rather determined to stay where he was. She threatened, pleaded, and finally flat out begged him to follow. It seemed that in his confused state he was twice as stubborn as usual.

She nearly fell to her knees when they reached the top of the stairs, but refrained. "Very good," she said, and she wasn't sure if she was talking to Javert, or herself. "We have a night ahead of us, don't we?" she murmured. It was the first time she'd felt as though she were taking care of someone other than Fantine. It was an odd feeling, but not altogether unpleasant.

_Of course, if he was he lucid he would order me away, _she reminded herself. _But this I can handle._

She began to walk, and he leaned on her and followed. His arm around her shoulders was heavy, and his grip slackened. His hand began to slip down her side. When his fingers brushed her chest, she stopped for a moment to assess the wave of heat that flared up beneath her cheekbones. Javert seemed to take it as encouragement, because his hand lingered there, squeezing her ribs.

She managed to find her voice. "Not there," she said quietly, and when he did not respond, she loosed one of her own hands and gently but firmly pushed his away. His hand slipped all the way down to her waist, as though it were _he _escorting _her. _And it might look that way, if anyone saw them from a distance. If they got any closer, they'd smell the stench from the water and they'd see the duo's dripping clothes. They would understand.

The walk was arduous, and painful. Roche kept them strictly in areas of the town she felt would be safe from prying eyes. Javert was compromised, and she feared that it might be seen as an opportune time to get the vigilant officer out of the way. _And I am in no fit state to fight off attackers, _she thought, assessing the pain in her joints. Her shoulder, where Javert's arm rested, was the worst. The cut Luc had given her still caused her pain. She could sense the beginnings of an infection, and could only hope she wouldn't get a fever as well. _The dip in the river won't have helped matters, _she thought ruefully.

By the time they made it to the hospital, Javert was mostly asleep again, and the bottoms of Roche's feet ached dreadfully. She did not want to look, but she was probably bleeding. Sighing, she stumbled towards the door, and her arms finally gave out. Somehow, she managed to make Javert's fall more of a glide, but he still hit the ground and went motionless.

She leaned against the door and raised a trembling hand. _Knock, _she told herself, and did just that. She almost immediately heard voices, and laughed in relief, quietly. _We're safe, _she thought. _He's safe._

She was leaning against the door as it opened, and tumbled onto the floor as a result. Bruised and suddenly irritated, she rolled onto her back and glared up at the white-garbed woman who had opened the door.

"He needs help," she said, sitting up. Her hair was plastered all over the back of her neck. "He fell in the river."

The woman, who must have been a nun, nodded slowly. "And you went after him?" she asked quaveringly. Without waiting for an answer, she hurried into another hallway. There were voices. Roche did not feel like being on the floor when the nun came back, and managed to get to her feet.

Moments later, a troop of women in white had entered the room. They hurried to the fallen Javert, somehow managing to pull him to his feet. The first nun stood behind Roche, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Perhaps you would like a blanket…?" she asked.

Roche realized the problem. Her undershirt was white and plastered to her body with foul-smelling water. She would have been embarrassed, but she was much too tired. "Alright," she said.

The nun was clearly relieved. "Follow your… friend," she suggested. "I will bring you the blanket there, _mademoiselle."_

She considered leaving. Javert was safe now, and she had no reason to stay. But her feet hurt terribly, as did her legs and shoulder. Besides, the hospital was not anywhere near her apartment. _I don't think I can make it home, _she realized.

Slowly, she padded into the room the nuns had taken Javert. She had nearly made it through the door when one of them grabbed her, throwing an arm across her eyes. "Oh, you mustn't look!" the nun exclaimed. "We're taking him out of his wet clothes, _mademoiselle!"_

Roche went stock still. "Alright," she said reasonably. "My eyes are closed. I will not look."

The nun pulled away. Roche, true to her word, kept her eyes closed. There was a tiny interest in peeking, but it was small and easily ignored. She'd never seen a completely naked man before, but she had gotten close. Besides, if she saw him naked, she wouldn't be able to get the image out of her head when they next spoke.

_… I am thinking entirely too much about this, _thought Roche.

There was a tap on her shoulder. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Javert was safely tucked beneath the covers. He had clearly been wrestled into some sort of gown. She smirked in spite of herself.

"_Mademoiselle?" _It was the nun from before, holding a thick woolen blanket. "Shall we find you a bed and get you out of your wet clothes?" She reached towards the hem of Roche's undershirt.

Startled, the girl backed away. "_Non, _it won't be necessary," she said. _I can't pay for this. Hopefully Javert can pay, or I've gotten him into trouble._

The nun nodded slowly and handed Roche the blanket. "A chair has been set out for you," she said softly. "Rest as long as you like."

"Thank you," said Roche numbly, taking the blanket. Suddenly, all she wanted was to strip off the clothing that clung to her frame and froze her bones, but that would not be appropriate here. Tiredly, she flung herself into the uncomfortable wooden chair that had been placed by Javert's bed. The blanket she slung over her shoulders. It was helpful in lowering the chill in the air, but her wet clothing it did nothing for.

She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. _Hopefully the inspector will not feel uncomfortable because I am here, _she thought. _Surely he will realize that I had no other option. _Yawning, she drew her legs towards her chest, arranging them in a way that felt comfortable on the seat.

It was a horrible chair, and her entire body was in pain. But she was exhausted. Her head spun, she closed her eyes, and everything went away.

* * *

_Everything hurts._

It was his first conscious thought, and it was a weak one. Javert resisted the urge to groan. He had no idea where he was, and his eyelids were far too heavy to open. Could he be at home? _Non, I can hear voices. _Javert lived in quiet solitude. If there were voices, he was not in his home.

Where, then? He breathed deeply and tried to remember. There had been a chase… Elise had shoved him into the river. After that he could only remember bits and pieces. There was… _Roche, _all the memories featured Roche. He had a particularly violent memory of her threatening to go nude in front of the convict, but surely that had been some sort of fever dream or hallucination.

_Then again, she might say it, _he reflected, and grunted softly.

He felt about ready to open his eyes. For a moment, everything wavered in his vision, hazy and golden. Then his eyes sharpened and he realized that he was looking at a white ceiling.

Painfully, he raised himself to a seated position. He was wearing some sort of ridiculous gown. He grimaced and shifted in the bed, moving the covers to conceal the gown from view.

_I am in the hospital. _He had been here only once before, on his tour of the town. _Never did I think I would be here for any sort of extended stay._

But how had he gotten here? _Roche must have gotten help. _For a moment, his chest swelled with emotion. _Smart. Next time I see her, I will have to thank her._

But it seemed that he would be seeing her sooner rather than later. As he turned his head, he was treated to the sight of Roche fast asleep in a chair to his left, breathing gently. There was a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing only an undershirt and trousers that were entirely too big for her. The shirt was plastered to her skin in a way that made him uncomfortable to look at.

Clearing his throat, he reached out and grasped the blanket, draping it over her chest. She stirred momentarily at his touch and her head shifted, as did her legs. One foot poked out from under the blanket, and he noticed that the toe was streaked in red.

Curiosity gripped him. Carefully, he reached out and turned her foot. Then he furrowed his brow. The bottom of her foot had been torn to shreds and was covered with dried blood. _What happened to her? _Surely _Roche _was the one who belonged in the bed, if she looked like that. Besides, he was a policeman and had no time to be resting.

He moved to pull off the covers and immediately a woman swept into the room. She was white-haired and very small, and obviously a nun of some kind. Javert greatly respected nuns. They, too, worked at thankless tasks for the benefit of the community.

The nun smiled sweetly when she saw him. "Ah," she said, hurrying to the foot of the bed. "You're awake, _monsieur! _How are you feeling?"

He swallowed. "I am very well, thank you," he said sternly. "I am… most thankful for the care you've given me, but I must be leaving. I have duties that cannot be put off."

The nun shook her head. "You are still unwell," she said, leaning over to press her hand to his forehead. "You are very close to running a fever, I fear. You must remain in bed if you wish to get well!"

Javert shook his head roughly. "I will be fine," he protested. "I am greatly in need of my uniform. Will you fetch it for me?"

At that, the nun looked positively mischievous. "I am sorry," she said. "The uniform is being washed and will be hung out to dry very soon. It will not be ready until the afternoon, at the very least." At his expression, she clapped her wrinkled hands together in a business-like manner. "In the meantime, you ought to get some rest," she suggested, "as your friend is doing."

Unconsciously, he looked at Roche. "She is not my friend," he said.

The nun looked taken aback. "She is not?" she exclaimed. "Goodness. After everything she's done for you!" The woman's tone was reproachful.

"Everything she's done for me? This child has done nothing for me."

The nun frowned. "Why, look at her feet! She tore them to pieces trying to get you here!"

That rattled him. He glanced at her foot, and it looked worse than it had before. "_She _brought me here?" he exclaimed. As he said it, a brief memory flashed through his mind, of a slim body struggling to bring him to the surface of the river. "Did she—was she covered in water too…?"

The nun nodded. "It seems she tried her utmost to keep you alive," she said. "You ought to thank her." The old woman's expression turned sad. "That girl needs treatment," she said, "but she refuses to accept it. A shame." She shook her head and turned back to Javert. "I'll be bringing along some food momentarily," she said. "In the meantime, try and relax." She turned and left the room in a whirl of skirts.

Javert, after a moment, settled back against the pillows. Despite his desire to leave, he had to wait for his uniform. He had no intention of leaving this room, or even getting out of bed, wearing such a ridiculous outfit.

He had no idea how he was to spend the next few hours. Javert's life was incredibly simple. He did his duty, and then returned home, where he would have a simple meal and retire to bed. He did not have any free time, and did not need it. Now the minutes would crawl by like years, and he would have no interesting way to pass the time.

He could wake Roche up. But the thought made him frown. No. He did not know what to say to her. Could it really have been Roche that brought him here? Her bloody feet and the nun's story pointed to it, but he found it difficult to believe. Surely she could have gotten help?

_She's proud, _he reminded himself. _Perhaps she did not want help. _In any event, he was now indebted to her, and he was not pleased about that. _She saved me because I am her employer, but it does not change the fact that I would have been in grave trouble without her. She deserves thanks. _Javert was unused to thanking people. He had never had much cause to do it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled the sheets midway up his torso. In the chair, Roche shifted a bit. Her head hit the side of the chair with an unpleasant sound but she did not awaken. He was relieved. There were so many reasons why he did not want to talk to her like this. He felt ridiculous in the peach-colored hospital gown, lying on the bed like an invalid.

There was a clattering sound at the door, and the nun bustled into the room, a tray in her hands. She smiled at Javert and hurried towards him. "Here's your breakfast," she said pleasantly, sliding the tray onto his lap. "Also… give this to the girl when she wakes up." The nun placed a roll in the corner of the tray. When she caught his questioning look, she shrugged apologetically. "If we aren't treating her, we can't give her the whole meal. But she seems like she could use some food in her."

With that, the nun hurried away again. Heat from the tray radiated across Javert's lap. There was a cup of water, a bowl of clear soup, and several rolls, excluding the one for Roche. Javert felt only a faint nausea when he looked at the meal. He was not in the habit of eating in the morning, as he awoke far too early to be hungry.

Roche, on the other hand, seemed to have no such qualm, for she was sniffing at the air like a dog. As he watched, she opened her eyes blearily, and then her back arched and she dug her nails into her palms, hissing all the while.

He started, not having expected so violent a reaction. Roche was in no small amount of pain, it seemed.

"_Merde, merde, merde," _she murmured. He gave her a look at that, but her eyes were closed and she missed it. When she did open her eyes again, it was with obvious effort.

She took a moment to collect her bearings. "Hi…" she began, but her voice was scratchy and dry. Clumsily, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello, Inspector."

He did not want to put it off. "Was it you that brought me here?"

She grinned, although it seemed a bit forced. "No greetings? You want to cut right to the chase, I see." He might have been more annoyed if her voice did not sound so strained and weak. As it was, all he felt was a detached sort of pity.

_Perhaps she is thinking the same of me, _he thought. _I am the one in the hospital bed, after all._

He sighed heavily. "_Bonjour. _Are you happy now?"

"Quite." Her smile lacked its usual mordacity, but at least she hadn't keeled over in pain. She seemed rather preoccupied with her shoulder (odd, given that her feet had been torn to shreds) and was kneading it gently with one hand.

"Will you answer the question now?"

"It _was _me," she said, turning away from him. For the first time she seemed to notice the pain in the soles of her feet, for she turned one of them over to inspect it. Then she grimaced and let it fall back onto the chair. "And it seems as though I ruined my feet in the process. Why do I do these things to myself?"

She seemed only to be playing at regret. _If she truly regrets saving my life, she will not tell me so, _thought Javert. It did not seem as though she regretted her decision, though. Why would she? If he had died, she would never have been paid. _And Valjean would have walked free, _he thought, _and no doubt crime would have run rampant in this town. If Montagne became chief of police… _He shuddered. It was an awful thought.

It was certainly the time to thank her. He wished that he was anywhere but here, in the bed, wearing the ridiculous gown. "I owe you my life," he said, sounding as grave as he could manage. "That is no small thing."

She looked at him. "Alright," she said. "Then you will have to save _my _life someday, and then we'll call it even." She sank down into the chair. "I get in trouble very often, _monsieur. _Repaying your debt to me will not be difficult."

She said it matter-of-factly, but it was not enough. "I will not forget this," he said finally. "You have done me a great service."

He had meant to say more, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I know what you are trying to say, Inspector. _You're welcome." _At his expression, she smiled guiltily. "I apologize for cutting you off. It is just that…" Her expression turned sour. "I _hurt_, and I cannot focus on any sort of speech. I am sure that it was lovely, though."

"It was not a _speech," _said Javert. "I was simply trying to give you what you were due."

For some reason, this seemed to bother her. "You don't owe me anything," she said. "I didn't rescue you because I expected to be thanked. In fact…" Here she raised an eyebrow at him. "I did not intend for you to realize that this happened at all."

"Then why are you here?"

She grimaced. "I doubted my ability to walk home on my lonesome," she said. "My clothing and shoes remain by the bridge, and while I doubt anyone will have seen them in the alcove I stuffed them in, the fact remains that they were much too far away for me to fetch."

He was relieved. _Of course she did not want thanks, _he thought. _She seems as though she isn't often thanked. At any rate, this makes my job much simpler._

Moments later, guilt struck him. _She saved my life. Perhaps she does not want to be thanked, but I still owe her, very much so._

The tray was still balanced on his legs. He cleared his throat and straightened his back against the pillows.

"The nun brought this for you," he said, and handed her the entire tray. _She will not accept it if she thinks it is charity._

Roche raised an eyebrow. "Did she?" she asked. "I doubt that. This is for you, isn't it?"

_She isn't a fool, _he thought, but did not reach for the tray. "I do not want it," he said. "It will go to waste if it is not eaten."

She looked at the bowl. It seemed as though she was wrestling with her words. "You are not giving this to me out of _pity, _are you?"

It would be a serious blow to her pride if he told her the truth. "You were injured while protecting _me. _I think you deserve it. And I truly do not want it."

It was very strange, treating Roche like anything other than an extremely irritating subordinate. She seemed to sense the oddity of the situation, because she bowed her head and picked up the spoon. He had never seen her give up so easily, but she was in pain and probably didn't have the strength to resist.

"Have a roll," she said suddenly, and tossed one of them onto his chest. "And the water," she continued. "You're probably dehydrated."

"As are you," he pointed out.

She glanced up from the soup to look at him. "I have this," she said, waving her spoon in the air. "That'll take care of it, I believe." She thrust the cup towards him, and a bead of water tipped over the rim and ran down the side. He took it from her, if only to prevent her from spilling it on him.

For several minutes, they were silent. He chewed thoughtfully on the roll and watched Roche slurp down the soup. It appeared as though she were far hungrier than she let on, because she lifted the bowl and licked at it like an animal. When she caught him staring, she hastily put the bowl back on the tray and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

Javert sighed. "I suppose your parents never taught you the correct way to drink soup?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "They didn't, actually. Manners have never been my strong suit."

"That," said Javert, "is apparent to all who know you."

To his surprise, she did not have any sort of snappy retort. She hung her head, and her hair moved to cover her eyes. Her shoulders, which had previously been quite still, began to shake. When she did not move from this position for several moments, a horrible thought struck him. "Are you…? Forgive me. Are you _crying?"_

She glanced up, and her eyes were bright and free of tears. "Laughing," she corrected. "I'm not so easily offended."

He was relieved. He had dealt with crying women in his life, but only when he was arresting them. He did not think he would know what to do if Roche _had _been crying. He certainly wouldn't have known how to comfort her.

"You find your lack of manners amusing?" he said, simply to get the image of a crying Roche out of his mind. Somehow, he couldn't see it. He could not imagine her crying. She did not seem like a person who cried very much, or at all. They were similar in that regard.

"Not at all," said Roche, leaning back in the seat. "I find your reaction to my lack of manners amusing. Besides, I don't think I am a total failure. I did use the spoon, didn't I?"

"If you expect congratulations for knowing how to use a spoon, you will not get them from me."

"Alas," she said, rolling her eyes. "And I was so looking forward to the celebratory dinner I was sure you would throw."

"Judging from the way you devoured that soup, I'd wager that you _were_ looking forward to some kind of dinner."

She raised both eyebrows, but she seemed weirdly delighted. "Imagine that," she said. "You have some wit about you after all! I was beginning to fear that you were entirely droll."

"I am very glad to put your fears at rest," he exclaimed, and finished his water in one gulp. He felt suddenly awash with energy. It was ridiculous that the he was still here; he had a town to patrol, and a prostitute to arrest for attempted murder. But he would not argue with the nuns; they were holy women and thought they were doing what was best for him.

Even as he thought it, there was the sound of a woman clearing her throat, and the nun who'd brought him his meal hurried into the room. When she saw Roche, she smiled gently. "I see the little heroine is awake!" she said, clapping her hands together.

Roche's eyes widened, and she went absolutely scarlet. "I… I'm not a heroine," she mumbled. Quite suddenly, she got to her feet. Then her eyes narrowed in pain and she knelt down, slapping the tray against the floor. Her whole body quavered and Javert realized that she was in much more pain than she'd let on.

The nun reached for her, but Roche managed to slip away from her grasp. "I thank you for your hospitality," she said hurriedly, "but I must be getting home now." She turned to Javert and gave him a short bow. "Thank you for the soup, Inspector. I hope you are feeling well soon."

The nun looked sad. "You are injured, dear. It would not be wise for you to go!"

Roche shrugged. "I am not a wise person," she said, and started to pull the blanket from her shoulders. At that, the nun physically stopped her, fixing the cloth so that it once again covered the girl's torso.

"If you must go out," said the old woman, "keep the blanket. I will send one of the sisters to your home to collect it. Where do you live, dear?"

Roche's nostrils flared, and for a moment Javert feared she would not say. But she was weakened, and apparently not thinking straight, because her mouth opened. "57 Rue Carnot," she said. "_Merci."_

The nun patted her on the shoulder, and Javert did not miss the way Roche's eyes sparked with pain. "It is nothing, my child."

And Roche was gone. He had meant to say some sort of parting phrase and to wish her well, but she vanished before he had the chance. He glanced at the chair where she'd sat and closed his eyes to block out the bloody prints on the seat.

_57 Rue Carnot, _he thought, and fixed the name to memory.

He did not always have hunches, but he felt as though, someday, he would need it.


End file.
